In the Shadow of Your Wings
by QueenOfTheDreamers87
Summary: Severus Snape and Hermione Granger never expected to find the other appealing, especially within the confines of Hogwarts and their strictly formal and detached dynamic. But sometimes the most significant experiences we endure are the ones we don't see coming at all. COMPLETE! *First book in the Psalmody Series.*
1. Chapter 1

Keep me as the apple of your eye;

hide me **in the shadow of your wings**

from the wicked who despoil me.

My ravenous enemies press upon me;

they close their hearts,

they fill their mouths with proud roaring.

Their steps even now encircle me;

they watch closely, keeping low to the ground,

Like lions eager for prey,

like a young lion lurking in ambush.

Rise, O LORD, confront and cast them down;

rescue my soul from the wicked.

Slay them with your sword;

with your hand, LORD, slay them…

 **Psalms 17:8-14**

* * *

Hermione stared blankly at the ceiling of the Gryffindor girls' dormitory. The pitch blackness of the night seemed to swallow her thoughts quickly as they flowed forth from her mind, swirling with guilt and shame.

You stupid, stupid witch! Confounding McLaggen didn't make him worse, nor Ron better. All it did was cheat. You're a cheater, Hermione. A terrible, awful cheater.

With a huff loud enough that she worried it would wake the other girls, Hermione flopped over, taking her duvet with her and yanking it over her head. Her breath came heavy and quick, anxiety rippling through her veins as she recalled the outrage upon McLaggen's face. Sure, Cormac McLaggen was an almighty boor, one who would contribute little to the general morale of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And, sure, Ron Weasley was Hermione's very good friend, and she wished little more than to see him succeed.

But you cheated, Hermione, and you know it.

Then, of course, there had been the visit to Hagrid's hut, where Hermione and Harry and Ron had had to explain their way out of dropping Care of Magical Creatures. They'd hurt Hagrid's feelings immensely by doing so. That much was obvious. By the end of the visit, Hagrid was more himself, even though his giant spider-friend Aragog was on the verge of spider-death. Still, the hurt Hermione had imposed on the overlarge caretaker was still eating at her hours later.

She sighed again, loudly, and thrashed about to the other side of her bed, punching a bit at her pillow in a futile struggle to get comfortable.

"Hermione?"

She froze, chewing upon her lip. Fresh guilt washed over her like a cold bucket of water as she realized that all of her tossing and turning had woken at least one of her fellow female Gryffindors.

"Are you quite all right, Hermione?" Lavender Brown sounded more than slightly irritated, her drowsy voice tight in the dark dormitory.

"Yes. I'm fine. Sorry. I'll be quiet." Hermione rolled onto her back and stared again at the ceiling, yanking the duvet up about her shoulders and digging her teeth into her bottom lip. She promised herself she would never cheat again, not at Quidditch or school or any other such thing, and that she would never hurt the feelings of anyone around her.

Then she realized that in times like these, such promises were ridiculous and impossible, and resigned herself to reality. Her eyes burned a bit as she shut them, refusing to open them until the sun came up. At some point, she must have fallen asleep, for her racing guilty thoughts eventually gave way to racing guilty dreams. But an hour later or so, her eyes flew open again.

* * *

Severus Snape stared blankly into the fire in his quarters, drumming his fingertips upon the arm of his wingback chair. The crackling of the wood as it was consumed by the flames seemed to taunt him just as cruelly as the Marauders had decades before. Or, more recently, as cruelly as had his fourth-year Gryffindors the previous day.

Come off it, Severus. They're bloody teenagers. Pimple-faced, gormless idiots with fewer brains than a pygmy puff.

Then again, they had acted no differently than Severus had ever expected any Gryffindor to act - smug, arrogant, and rude. He had been teaching, or attempting to teach, the fourth-years the most fundamental concepts of wordless duelling. Instead of heeding his warnings that such skills might become useful in a practical capacity sooner rather than later, the cocky Gryffindors had used the opportunity to engage in reckless behavior.

Childish hexes had flown throughout the classroom. Some students had deliberately neglected to block the hexes from their friends, allowing themselves to wind up with jelly-legs or steaming ears and finding the whole bit quite hilarious. Others had cast ridiculously dangerous spells wordlessly at their Slytherin opponents, who were sometimes unable to block them. The lesson had ended with a fourth-year Slytherin on the ground, his nose magically enlarged and bleeding like a sieve, while his Gryffindor sparring partner found herself completely bald and sobbing.

Severus had sneered in disgust and flicked his wand at the both of them, muttering counter-curses to reverse the unsightly damage the students had done to one another.

"All of you," he said, looking about the room with narrowed eyes, "get out of my sight."

"But, Professor Snape, sir," one fool of a Gryffindor had piped up with too much of a smirk, "the lesson isn't over for another twenty minutes."

Severus was hovering over the boy in a flash, glaring down with a searing anger blazing through his chest. "Mr. Davies," he articulated, each syllable clicking off his tongue like a spark, "our lesson is over now. Get out. All of you."

The incident had injected Severus with a throbbing pang of doubt. Perhaps he had been wrong, all these many years, to pine after the Defence against the Dark Arts position, after all. Of course, Dumbledore had always been wisely reticent to place Severus in the position. Dumbledore (and many others) were well aware that Severus was very intimately acquainted with the Dark Arts themselves. Severus had always tried to use this point to his advantage. He had tried telling Dumbledore that his working knowledge of the Dark Arts would allow him the ability to give students a more effective insight into blocking hexes, guarding their minds, identifying toxic potions.

Knowing the enemy.

Still, Dumbledore had persisted in keeping Severus locked away in the dungeons, hiring buffoons like Gilderoy Lockhart and Remus Lupin - fucking Remus Lupin, one of Severus' own school bullies, as Dumbledore full well knew. It had seemed for years to Severus as though Dumbledore's persistence about the teaching assignments was one way of keeping Severus in his place, of reminding him that they were all doing Severus a great favor by allowing him a place at Hogwarts at all.

And now, finally, Severus had the chance to teach where he wanted, what he wanted… but the idiot children were bungling it for him. Worst of all was Potter. Just today, Severus had been forced to waste part of his Saturday on the boy's detention because Potter had tried to hex him. Fucking Potter. The boy was precisely 99% James and 1% Lily. Only his eyes were Lily. The rest of him, every scrap of skin and hair and certainly every ounce of his personality, were James, James, James.

Severus stared into the fire again and pulled his cut crystal tumbler of Blishen's Firewhisky up to his lips. He thought about taking a deep draught, about getting completely drunk tonight, but he didn't. He never did. He wasn't that he didn't like the burn of the firewhisky as it scorched its way into his chest. He did. He liked it very much. It wasn't that he didn't like the swimming feeling in his head after a half-filled tumbler of the stuff. He did. He liked that quite a bit, too. More than anything, he liked that the firewhisky made him think that he was the best professor that Hogwarts had ever seen.

But what he did not like was that it made him feel a bit out of control of himself. He'd never liked that at all about alcohol, even when he'd been freshly seventeen and newly permitted to drink the stuff. He remembered the night of Lily's seventeenth birthday, when she had drunk like a fish, and she'd lost control of herself entirely. The next day, she'd let it slip to Severus that James Potter had taken something from her that she could never get back, and Severus had decided there and then that firewhisky was something that should be taken like a very dangerous potion… little sips, and only a couple of them. The damage it could wreak was… immense.

So Severus sipped his Blishen's Firewhisky slowly, carefully. After another half hour, he'd only taken the amber liquid down a half inch in the tumbler. He held it up before his eyes and pulled the bit in his mouth back and forth through his crooked teeth, feeling the smooth liquor heat up as it seeped about. Finally, he swallowed, and the stuff coursed down his throat with a biting, stinging heat that was at once torture and thrill.

Then, suddenly, the crystal tumbler was falling, released with a jolt from Severus' slender fingers. The blistering fire in his throat was abruptly nothing compared to the pain upon his left forearm. As he clutched at his sleeve and clenched his eyes shut, hissing in agony, Severus registered the sound of the whisky tumbler shattering upon the wooden floor.

That's the expensive Blishen's wasted, then, he thought, somehow, pulling himself to his feet. No matter. He wouldn't need the Blishen's where he was going. There would be plenty of refreshments at Malfoy Manor.

* * *

"Lumos!"

The Grand Staircase had become as dark as coal as Hermione descended. Why did the teachers of this school insist upon keeping the entire place so inky black at night, Hermione wondered? It did not seem safe, even if it was ostensibly against the rules for students to be out and about at this hour. Besides, she thought as a shiver fluttered through her, it made her uneasy. And, was this place not supposed to feel like home?

Thankfully, nearly all the myriad portraits were sleeping. Hermione was more than grateful for this, for her own stomach rumbled in such a boisterous fashion that it echoed the portraits' snoring.

Nearly there. One storey more to the Great Hall, then on to the kitchens. The house-elves won't hate you so much that they won't spare you a bit of bread and cheese, Hermione.

She supposed she could have simply Transfigured something in her dormitory into a snack, but there was something drawing her out of her room at two in the morning. The rules had hardly stopped her the past six years; why should they keep her in Gryffindor Tower now, when her insomnia and late-night hunger combined to make the kitchens so appealing?

Hermione was making her way down the Grand Staircase when one of the paintings suddenly hissed at her,

"Hello, there!"

Hermione jumped, gasping in horror at being addressed in such a ghostly manner. Her wand clattered to the ground, taking the white ball of light at its tip with it, and Hermione clamored to reach for it. She pulled her fuzzy scarlet robe more tightly around herself and snuggled her feet more firmly into her slippers. Feeling quite frazzled indeed, Hermione tucked her wild hair behind her ears and took a shivering breath, turning toward the portrait who had addressed her.

"Oh. Hello, Damara."

Hermione whispered as softly as possible at the ancient witch, perpetually tired and hungry, who resided in a series of portraits throughout the castle and had recently seemed to have developed quite the crush on Sir Cadogan. Hermione was quite surprised to see Damara Dodderidge awake at this hour; as far as Hermione knew, Damara slept whenever possible.

"Where are you off to at this time of night?" Damara asked, a wicked glint in her grin as she winked at Hermione.

Feeling a flush creep up her neck as she scrambled for an answer, Hermione settled upon the truth. "I… I couldn't sleep. I was just going to fetch a snack."

"Oh." Damara nodded. "I had thought perhaps you were off to see a lad. That would be a much juicier tale, wouldn't it? But, then, a snack sounds nice, too. If perchance he is awake, might you ask Giffard Abbott to bring me a snack, as well? Not too much, just perhaps a bit of cake and some chestnuts or brussels sprouts… some bacon and lamb, and a nice mug of mead. I'm quite hungry. Just a snack. Don't trouble him too much."

Hermione flashed Damara a crooked little smile and nodded, turning to leave. "Of course, Damara. Good night."

As she started to walk away, Hermione heard the portrait again behind her.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder impatiently, wanting very much to simply get on to the kitchens.

"You'll want to be careful, dear. You're not the only one about tonight."

Hermione felt her eyebrows crumple a bit at that. Damara had a portrait in the clock tower, as well. Was there someone out there? She kept her wand ahead of her and nodded solemnly at Damara, muttering her thanks before continuing down the Grand Staircase.

Now feeling considerably more paranoid than she had done before, Hermione reached the bottom of the Grand Staircase and padded as silently as she could into the Entrance Hall. There were a few sconces upon the stone walls here that apparently stayed lit all through the night, giving Hermione some small comfort that the professors cared gave a modicum of care to whether or not the castle seemed dead at night. Then she remembered that the castle had its own magic and probably decided for itself which corridors were lit at night.

"Nox," Hermione muttered, lamenting the fact that she had to traverse such an open part of the castle in order to get to the kitchens. What if one of the professors was patrolling the corridors for safety? Even as a prefect, there was no legitimate reason she could give for being out so late.

The repercussions of this fact were all the more evident, and seemed all the more grave, as Hermione approached the four House point hourglasses. She paused in front of them, staring at each one in the dim light of the sconces. The Ravenclaw sapphires were hardly visible at all in the darkness, their blue appearing almost black, but Hermione knew that they were currently leading in House points. Slytherin was next, she knew, with a hefty pile of emeralds sitting at the bottom of their hourglass. A humble but nonzero amount of diamonds had dribbled through to the base of the Hufflepuff hourglass since the start of term. As for Gryffindor? Well, it was as Professor Snape had told Harry. If it were possible, Gryffindor would have started the term with negative points. As it were, every single ruby was at the top of the hourglass. Gryffindor was in dead last place with little hope of catching up any time soon. The other three houses would have to engage in a full-scale riot, with all the Gryffindors cleaning up the damage, in order for the House points orders to significantly change.

Sighing wistfully, Hermione realized that if she were to get caught tonight, she would only worsen the situation. She turned to continue on to the kitchens, but as she walked, she noticed the distinct sound of footsteps… and they were not her own.

Panicked bile rose in Hermione's throat as she looked quickly around for somewhere to hide. There were no inlets, no hollows, in this corridor. In desperation, Hermione reached for the door of the Great Hall, but found it locked.

"Alohomora!" she whispered, pointing her wand at the iron handle of the door, and though she heard it click, she realized with a sinking feeling that the door would make an enormous racket opening. She had no time for this. The quick, clicking footsteps were getting close. Too close.

Hermione whirled around, her back to the thick doors of the Great Hall, and cast a hasty Disillusionment Charm upon herself. She did not focus hard enough upon it, she thought, and she worried that the level of camouflage would be imperfect. She might looked rippled, like a heat reflection against the door. She only hoped that the light would be dim enough, and the owner of the approaching footsteps distracted enough, that she would go unnoticed.

Of course, she had not counted upon the owner of those footsteps being Severus Snape.

Hermione tried to keep herself from gasping aloud as Snape rounded the corner, his dragon hide boots clacking noisily upon the stone floor as he whisked down the corridor with his robes billowing majestically behind him.

Snape? Hermione was baffled. She was perfectly accustomed to him making rounds at night, but not looking like this. He had a traveling cloak on, and his stringy black hair looked as though he'd been out in the rain. Even in the bluish light of his wand, Hermione could see the coral glow of windblown cheeks. He had clearly just come from outside.

What were you up to, then, Professor Snape?

Hermione felt her eyes narrow as she tried to slow her breathing, to silence her heart beat, to flatten herself against the door. But it was no use. As Snape approached the doors of the Great Hall, his rapid footsteps slowed and then stopped. He stayed where he was for a long moment, and then his the light from his wand was silently extinguished.

Hermione felt her heart begin to race. He knew. He knew she was here. How did this man know everything? Abruptly filled with rage, and, oddly, jealousy for his abilities, Hermione pressed herself more firmly into the doors of the Great Hall. She tried to melt into the doors, shutting her eyes and willing herself to become fibers of the wood to escape Snape's miraculous powers of detection.

When she opened her eyes again, he was there, perhaps two feet in front of her, his wand pointed straight at her chest. He was looking at her, but not at her eyes. He knew she was there, but she was invisible. He could have used a simple Homenum Revelio charm, Hermione knew, but Snape was toying with her… with whomever it was that was hiding from him. He liked to torment his students, and he was going to get his due tonight. She could see it in his angry scowl.

Damn him!

Hermione gulped, and the very small act must have made a tiny sound, for the second she swallowed, Snape squared his jaw and pressed his wand forward an inch. The tip of his wand touched Hermione's throat, and then a wicked gleam came across Snape's black eyes.

"Finite incantatem."

Hermione felt nothing, but knew that her Disillusionment Charm must have been lifted, because all of a sudden Snape's black eyes were upon hers, and she knew he could see her just fine. He took a minute step back, for he was awfully close at this point. He ground his teeth together and frowned deeply, lowering his wand.

"Well, Miss Granger, I can't say I'm terribly surprised to see you, of all people, wandering the castle at this hour. Have you some excuse or explanation you care to offer me?"

"Sir?"

Hermione was not expecting the chance to explain herself. She was expecting the immediate assignment of disciplinary action, along with a barking demand that she return immediately to Gryffindor Tower. But a request for an explanation? She found herself with her mouth agape.

"Close your mouth, Miss Granger. You look like a cod fish."

Hermione clapped her jaw shut and scowled, her cheeks burning scarlet with embarrassment. She huffed and blinked a few times, trying to center her thoughts enough to formulate an answer to Snape's original question. She looked up at him, at his hair, still dripping with rain, and wanted very much to ask him where he had been. Instead, she offered timidly,

"I was going to the kitchens, sir."

"The kitchens?" Professor Snape cocked a thick eyebrow at Hermione, looking terribly amused. Hermione nodded nervously, and Snape chuckled in a deep voice, sending a shiver of terror through Hermione's veins. She had never heard him laugh, and it was not exactly a pleasant sound. "Were you going there to foment revolution?"

Ah, a jab at her S.P.E.W. fiasco. That was clever. Once again, Hermione found herself scowling at him. Then, realizing she probably looked awfully impudent, she stared at the ground and shook her head. "No, sir. I was… hungry."

"Hm. Indeed. Do you find the Hogwarts meal schedule insufficient to meet the needs of your appetite?"

He was goading her now, and Hermione felt her entire body flushing hot with a mixture of anger and humiliation. "No, sir." The words were squeezed through gritted teeth. "I found myself quite unable to sleep this evening. As a result of my insomnia, I was uncharacteristically hungry."

"And you are unable to Transfigure yourself a snack?"

Hermione could not help but let out a very angry puff of air at that, raising her eyes up to Snape's. She stared at him for a very long time, and only then realized that he looked far more tired than she was accustomed to seeing him. Not that she was used to being this close to her most antagonistic professor, but she'd seen his face enough over the past six years to know that his appearance tonight was out of the ordinary. The dark circles beneath his eyes were more akin to bruises than anything else, and the way his wet hair hung in his face made him look travel-weary and drained. She had not realized how long she had been staring until Professor Snape uttered snappily,

"Have you lost the use of your verbal faculties, Miss Granger?"

Hermione gulped heavily and shut her eyes. She sighed a bit and asked softly, "Please, Professor… I'm very sorry for being out of bed so late. I know I've broken the rules. I shall go back at once. Just let me know what my punishment is."

"There is none. Go back to Gryffindor Tower."

He turned away and started to walk off, and Hermione felt a surge of confusion echo in her brain. Before she could tell herself to thank Merlin for her good fortune, and for Snape's apparent loss of sanity, she blurted out,

"What do you mean, there isn't any punishment?"

Professor Snape whirled over the shoulder of his travelling cloak and glared at her, pinching his lips tightly.

"Are you asking me to take House points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger?" he scoffed. He gestured behind Hermione to the large House points hourglasses. "You will note, my dear, that there are simply no Gryffindor House points to take. Therefore, that is not an option for me, much as you deserve to have dozens and dozens of them taken for wandering about the castle in your lingerie at two in the morning."

Hermione felt her eyes go wide and round as saucers at his ludicrous words, clutching her fluffy red robe more tightly around herself with her slim fingers. She thought she was very modestly dressed, quite covered and wearing pajamas, not lingerie. She glared indignantly at Professor Snape, but he continued relentlessly,

"The other conventional disciplinary option, which is detention, is out of the question because I find myself overly occupied with them as of late. Ruddy fourth-years have eaten up my next six Sundays with them, and just today your very good friend Potter attempted to ingratiate himself by scraping flobberworm mucus off my desks. I have no desire to spend the entirety of my tenure supervising detentions. Besides which, they are intended to be not only punitive, but preventative. And you, Miss Granger… well… after six long years of you persistently breaking the rules, I hardly think a detention will keep you properly in line."

Hermione found herself standing once again with her mouth open in shock, her arms crossed angrily over her chest. She had no idea why she was offended that Professor Snape would not assign her detention. She ought to be very grateful. But she wasn't. She was offended.

"Once again, Miss Granger, you ought to close your mouth. It is unbecoming to stand about wearing your righteous indignation so plainly." Professor Snape threaded his long, thin fingers through his wet hair, pushing the stringy strands back. They immediately fell forward again, planting themselves in front of the obsidian orbs that bored so deeply through Hermione.

"So… I shall just go straight back to Gryffindor Tower, then," Hermione whispered, and she shoved her wand into her robe pocket as a sign of submission to the intimidating man. Snape nodded briskly.

"Don't ever let me catch you out in the castle again at this hour, Miss Granger," he commanded, his voice somewhere between a growl and a sneer. "I know you think the rules do not apply to you. But even for a Prefect, it is strictly forbidden to be out and about at this hour."

Hermione nodded her assent and padded quickly past him, and then from behind her, she heard him mutter, "Besides which, it isn't safe."

Hermione's steps faltered just a touch at those words, but she did not turn around. She sank her top teeth into her bottom lip and nodded once more.

"Thank you, Professor."

As she wordlessly settled herself back into her bed in the girls' dormitory, she listened to the blustering wind and the pounding rain outside the leaded glass window and thought back to the sight of Professor Snape's rain-soaked hair, his windblown cheeks. He'd been wearing a traveling cloak; his steps had been brisk and purposeful. He had seemed agitated, irritated even. Where had he been? What had he been doing?

Hermione stared blankly at the ceiling in the darkness, wondering and wondering, not wanting to accept the few dreadful possibilities that crept into her consciousness.

* * *

Severus threw open the door to his chambers and stared at the shards of glass where his tumbler of Blishen's Firewhisky had shattered hours before. With an exasperated sigh, Severus flicked his wand at the mess and Vanished it. He glanced into the stone hearth where the remains of his earlier fire were now a smoldering pile of ash and charcoal.

"Incendio." Severus mumbled the incantation, and the flames in the hearth were rekindled into a glowing warmth and light that filled his room.

He was exhausted after this latest summoning by the Dark Lord, but at least this time there had been no torture, of him or of anyone else. It had merely been a meeting of several less-than-upstanding individuals, discussing matters of trivial importance. Severus had been unnerved at the way Nagini had slithered around the legs of his chair, to the point that he'd missed a question the Dark Lord had asked him, but he'd recovered adequately. Severus had spoon-fed information (truth and lies) to the Dark witches and wizards present, and he had acquired new facts to report to Dumbledore. But those would have to wait until morning, for Severus was far too depleted tonight, simply from being in the presence of Lord Voldemort.

Then, naturally, a Gryffindor had made his night all the better. Why couldn't he have simply strode through the castle back to his dungeon quarters and flopped into bed as he always did after these meetings? They were tiring enough without sensing the invisible presence of a student breaking curfew.

Severus had known it was Hermione Granger before he'd undone her Disillusionment Charm. He liked to think of himself as a fairly observant wizard, and when he had perceived the presence of another human in front of the Great Hall, he had activated every sense he possessed in order to identify them.

He had listened, hard, and could hear a faint breathing sound. Whoever it was, they were nervous to see him, breathing quickly through their nose. Granger did that, often. Whenever Severus towered over her in Potions or Defence Against the Dark Arts, Hermione Granger was wont to breathe quickly through her nose in frustrated embarrassment. She was also extremely likely, or at least as likely as anyone else, to be out of bed at two in the morning. One mark against Granger, then.

Severus had breathed in, deeply, and inhaled the complex aroma of the corridor. There was the damp smell of the stone in the rainy night, but that was to be expected. The musty smell of the wooden doors - yes, always there. His own cloaks and the smell of his wet hair… hardly appealing, but identifiable as his own scent.

Then, a strangely sunny aroma cut through the darkness. Grapefruit, vanilla… a girl, or a woman. Severus turned to the origin of the smell and stalked toward it, continuing to breathe calmly through his prominent nose as he did. The fresh perfume grew stronger as he neared the doors of the Great Hall. Most definitely feminine - so it wasn't Potter, then.

The heat he could feel - the bodily warmth of another human being - only radiated up to a certain height. The other person was short, and pressing themselves against the door. Severus pulled his wand and terminated the Disillusionment Charm he could sense, and then there she was.

Hermione Granger. No surprise.

He had explained to her that she would not be punished. Ideally, yes, he woul

* * *

d have taken House points from her, for it was dangerous and foolish and Gryffindor arrogance at its finest for her to be wandering the castle alone in the middle of the night. But he could have easily given her detentions. The truth was that he did not feel inclined to punish the girl after the meeting he had just sat through.

The Dark Lord and his minions had discussed their long-term plans for Muggle-borns, both at Hogwarts and in wizarding society at large, after the planned overthrow of the Ministry of Magic. Life for Muggle-borns would not be pleasant, even if they attempted to escape wizarding society, even if they snapped their wands and tried to live as Muggles. To the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, 'Mudbloods' were lower than Muggles. They were magic-thieves, imposters, pretenders.

Hermione Granger was Muggle-born, and so seeing her pressed against the doors of the Great Hall with embarrassment, disappointment, and fear in her eyes made Severus Snape particularly disinclined toward any sort of reprimand. He could have assigned long essays for her, though that might have been seen as a reward for Hermione Granger. He could have forced her to spend her Saturdays making charitable potions for patients at St. Mungo's, but, again, that was hardly a punishment for the studious girl.

It really didn't matter, anyway, Severus thought as he had glanced up at the stupid, meaningless House points hourglasses. All of this, the detentions and the points and the school curfews, would seem childish and idealistic and innocent a year from now.

A tempest was rushing toward them all, one far more fierce than what blew now outside the castle.

The only thing that concerned Severus was the look in Hermione Granger's light brown eyes as she had searched his black ones. She had look curious - too curious. She had been wondering where he had come from that night, and she did not trust him. Severus sighed deeply as he glanced again into his fireplace and peeled his rain-soaked cloaks from his wiry frame. Hermione Granger was a prying, meddling little creature, and if she was not more careful, her curiosity would have grave consequences for her. Severus burrowed himself beneath his duvet and resolved to speak with Albus Dumbledore about it all in the morning… for the felonious little girl's sake… after a few hours' rest.

* * *

"Sugared butterfly wing?"

Albus Dumbledore popped open the flowery antique tin of sickly sweet insect wings, nearly a hundred years old with many centuries to go before expiration, and extracted a handful. He held a few out in offering to Severus, who shook his head impatiently.

"No, thank you, Albus. As I said, I must be brief. I've a slew of fourth-years with detention today -"

"On a Sunday, Severus?" Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow skeptically.

Severus felt his cheeks color. "If you'd been in lessons with them last week, you'd have them all in there today, as well."

Dumbledore shrugged and tossed the sugared butterfly wings into his own mouth, chewing them thoughtfully. "What transpired last night at Malfoy Manor, then, my boy?"

Severus despised when he was addressed that way by Dumbledore. He had not been a student at Hogwarts for over twenty years; he'd been teaching here for very nearly that length of time. He was no more a 'boy' than Dumbledore himself, and he knew that the elder wizard only used the term to be deliberately condescending. Severus let out a low hiss through his teeth and tempered his tone as he said quietly,

"The Death Eaters and the Dark Lord were discussing… plans… for Muggle-Borns. These plans are, of course, under the assumption that their side is to ultimately emerge triumphant. They were policies, really, for a new Ministry, a new administration at Hogwarts, et cetera."

He waved his hand dismissively, as if a casual brush-off of the meeting could exorcise the terrible things that had been said there. But Dumbledore pressed,

"And what were these policies, exactly?"

Severus sighed again. He sank into the chair opposite Dumbledore's and pulled his fingers up the bridge of his nose, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. Thinking about all this again made him tired. It all made him very tired.

"The plan is a gradual but steady dissolution of the rights of Muggle-borns. First, expulsion of all Muggle-born students from Hogwarts, concurrent with the termination of all Muggle-born Ministry employees and the closure of Muggle-born businesses. Registration of all Muggle-borns in Britain. Following that, confiscation of wands and all other magical artifacts from Muggle-borns. Prohibition of the practice of magic among Muggle-borns. Magical sterilization. Forced servitude to half-bloods and purebloods, and then eventually slavery. Extermination of any who prove themselves useless. Culling of Muggle-born magical children upon discovery of existence."

His breath shook heavily as he clenched his eyes shut more tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose harder. Dumbledore said nothing to him at all, and Severus spoke again.

"Things like this have happened before in the Muggle world, Albus. Exterminations and genocides and 'cleansings.' These horrors are not mere speculation. There are historical precedents for such inhumanity."

He cracked open his black eyes and saw that Dumbledore was staring at a white quill with great sadness in his ancient eyes, coursing his fingernail gently over the feathers. The old wizard pursed his lips and sucked in air slowly, and then he finally said,

"Harry must not fail, Severus, and therefore neither must you."

"I know."

There was a great long silence, during which Severus felt the Headmaster's Office grow heavy with grief and worry, and when he could stand it no longer, he cleared his throat.

"Upon my return last night, or, rather, quite early this morning, I discovered Miss Granger breaking curfew in the corridor outside the Great Hall. She had Disillusioned herself to avoid getting caught, but I knew she was there."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Miss Granger, rather like her compatriots, is ill-suited for following the rules."

Severus scowled at the headmaster. Was Dumbledore excusing Hermione Granger from being out and about by stating that the girl simply was not created to be obedient? Preposterous!

"Headmaster," Severus said tightly, pronouncing his words carefully through his teeth, "I found her willfully hiding herself from a teacher, clad in a dressing gown and slippers, with a very poor excuse as to why she was alone in the corridors at two o'clock."

"What was her excuse?" Dumbledore's pale eyes glinted in mockery, and Severus felt a flush of rage creep up his neck. He sneered.

"She was going to the kitchens for a snack."

"Well, Miss Granger is quite lean. Perhaps a snack or two would do her well." Dumbledore smiled warmly. "Is there anything else, Severus."

"Albus!" Severus nearly growled as he flew to his feet. "She was disobeying the rules."

"Very well, then." Dumbledore slowly stood, his aged knees cracking audibly as he rose. "I'm quite certain you assigned her plenty of detentions for her infractions, along with several lengthy punitive essays, and I'm sure you took points from Gryffindor. Good day, Severus."

"You know full well that Gryffindor has no points to take!" Severus found himself getting flustered for a reason he could not well explain. His hand flew up to his slick onyx hair and whisked it off his face, but it promptly fell forward again. "And, were I to assign Miss Granger any essays as punishment, she would have squealed at me in glee. That is not punishment for her. It is an honor and a privilege for that girl to write essays. Any task I could set for her in a detention would be less pleasant for me than for her, now that I'm teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. 'Miss Granger, today you will spend eight hours correcting first-year exams. Miss Granger, your task for detention today is to polish candelabras, to put my personal potions stores into alphabetical order, and to write a hundred lines about how sorry you are for your transgression.' Yes, Albus, I'm sure that would be a very effective punishment for Miss Granger."

Severus had not realized throughout his ranting that he had begun pacing throughout Dumbledore's office, meandering in slow circles in front of the Headmaster's desk while gesticulating fervently with his hands and snarling his words with angry, huffing breaths.

"You know, a year or so ago, I still found myself vehemently wondering why it was that Miss Granger was not sorted into Ravenclaw. But now, Albus, now I know full well why it is that the girl is a Gryffindor. She is nosy, and she is meddlesome. She has no regard whatsoever for the rules. It does me little good to return from a meeting at Malfoy Manor and stumble upon the brains of the Golden Trio, doing a very poor job of hiding herself while she stalks about the castle like a damned cat in the night. Then she had the gall, the brazen cheek, to look at me with suspicion, as though I had been somewhere I should not have been!"

"Well, Severus, you were somewhere you should not have been, at least according to her. I'm sure she suspected…"

Severus whirled on Dumbledore, feeling the black fire shoot forth from his glare as he spat at the old man, "I was precisely where I was told to be, by both you and by Him."

That shut Dumbledore up for a long moment, and the elder wizard's pale eyes softened considerably. Dumbledore folded his hands in front of his sapphire robes and sighed heavily. "Of course you were, Severus. I know, and you know, that you were hardly sneaking about. But think of how it must have seemed to Miss Granger. You and I know why you did not give her detention. It was because you looked as suspicious to her as she did to you."

"No." Severus shook his head, realizing that although Dumbledore's words made perfect sense, and though that would have been a valid reason to decline punishing Hermione Granger, it was not the truth. "It is because… It is because she is Muggle-born."

"Ah." Dumbledore smiled serenely and nodded simply. There was another long pause during which nothing was said, and much was understood.

Hermione Granger was Muggle-born, as had been Lily Evans. Dumbledore knew well that Severus' greatest regret in his life had been the moment he called Lily a 'Mudblood,' after which she detached completely from him and his life began to crumble. In the immediate aftermath of a Death Eater meeting that explicitly called for the extermination of every Muggle-born in Britain, how could Severus Snape rain down his own wrath upon the first Muggle-born he saw?

Even if she was a nosy, meddlesome Gryffindor, with poufy hair and over-enunciated, haughty speech. Even then.

* * *

"Oh, come on, 'Mione! I can teach you to fly properly!"

"No, Ronald!" Hermione shoved Ron's shoulder as they entered the Great Hall for lunch, curling her lips into a wicked smile. The two had been debating whether or not Hermione would need proper broom flying skills to be successful in life after leaving Hogwarts. Hermione had insisted that alternative transportation methods, like Apparition, Floo, and Portkeys, would be more than sufficient and that her substandard flying skills would not matter. Ron had contended that there was nothing quite like the rush of wind through your hair as you sailed skillfully upon a broom.

The two took their places at the Gryffindor table, where Harry was already seated. He was reading through the Potions textbook he had so auspiciously selected on the first day of class, and Hermione felt her jaw clench in frustration, though she opted not to say anything to him about it. Ron sat beside Harry and Hermione plopped down opposite the boys, yanking an apple from the silver bowl of fruit in the middle of the table. She sank her teeth into the skin of the apple and began munching ungracefully upon it.

"Ronald," she said as she chewed, swiping the back of her hand across her lips and swallowing heavily, "broom travel was only invented in order to circumlocute the detection of Muggles. Quidditch was born of this need and is now, really, the only useful application for brooms. It's like polo ponies in Muggle life…"

"All right, all right!" Ron held up his hands in defeat, a horrified look spreading across his freckled countenance as he realized he might be in for a veritable lecture. "I won't teach you how to fly. It's fine. You can Floo and Apparate and Portkey all you like, and I'll play Quidditch, all right?"

Hermione grinned and took another bite of apple, smirking at Harry as he closed his Potions book and slipped it into his bag. She was in a far better mood today, though she could not decide precisely why. She had hardly slept the night before, and still had niggling doubts about where Professor Snape had come from the night before. She debated bringing it up to the boys, but decided against it. After all, the professor had opted not to punish her despite her blatant disregard for curfew. Perhaps, she thought, if she could do more observation…

If she developed any more reason to suspect Professor Snape, then she would bring it up to Harry and Ron. The two of them were so inclined to distrust Professor Snape, often to the point of outright hatred. Hermione knew that Professor Dumbledore trusted Snape, and therefore it would take a right mountain of evidence against the Slytherin Head of House in order for her to believe he was truly a Death Eater.

After some consideration the night before, Hermione had come to the tentative conclusion that Professor Snape had indeed been at a meeting of Death Eaters, or at least conducting some Dark business, for he had looked haggard and worn after storming into the castle out of the rain. But, again, Dumbledore trusted Snape. Hermione need only remind herself of that much. So, no matter where Professor Snape had been, it did not matter - she was quite certain he must have been there not for nefarious purposes but on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix.

As if to confirm her theory, Hermione found herself glancing up to the High Table, where the staff was consuming their lunch with as much gusto as the students. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were quietly but animatedly talking about something, while Professor Flitwick appeared to be demonstrating the wand motion for a charm to Professor Vector, who nodded emphatically whilst chewing a bun.

The staff scanned their eyes across the students periodically, took sips of their drinks, bites of food, and talked. All of them, anyway, except for Professor Snape.

He was sandwiched between Madam Pince and Professor Sprout, and both women were ignoring him completely. He seemed perfectly pleased with this arrangement, and had no food at all upon his plate, as far as Hermione could tell. He held a thick book up in front of him and had his eyes buried in the tome. Every few moments, Professor Snape lazily flicked the page over and his black eyes started scanning again.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm!" She startled and returned her gaze to the Gryffindor table, finally masticating the bite of apple that she'd been holding in her mouth for some time.

"What do you say?"

"About…?" Hermione hesitated as she glanced from Ron to Harry and back again. Ron's ginger eyebrows furrowed in confusion and frustration and his cheeks colored a bit.

"Wizard's Chess. In the courtyard… after lunch? Fancy a game with me?" Ron sounded a bit peeved at repeating himself. Hermione gulped heavily and forced a small smile to her lips.

"Of course!" she said as gleefully as she could manage. She was less enthused about it than she pretended to be, for a number of reasons. She didn't much fancy Wizard's Chess, finding the game to be appallingly barbaric, and Ron was much better than her at it. Still, he was her friend, and if she wanted to keep it that way, she had to compromise every now and again.

You can't live your entire life in the library, Hermione, she scolded herself.

She was doubting that sentiment heavily as she and Ron sat in the courtyard two hours later and he was perilously close to defeating her a third time.

"Check mate…" A sudden look of unmitigated glee spread across Ron's freckled face as he pulled his fingers up to his lips and leaned down to the chessboard. He raised his eyes to smirk playfully at Hermione, and she frowned at him as he whispered to the chessboard, "Knight to C-7."

"Oh, Ronald!" Hermione huffed angrily as she watched Ron's knight draw its sword and gruesomely decapitate Hermione's red queen before prancing triumphantly around the board. "Did he have to cut her head off?"

"That's Wizard's Chess, 'Mione." Ron sat up and slapped his knees with exaggerated bravado. "It's a war on a board."

"Yes, well…" Hermione scowled. "We'll be fighting a real war soon enough."

Suddenly the playfulness in Ron's eyes died, and he swept his wand up from the chair beside him and pointed it at his Wizard's Chess set.

"Depulso," he murmured quietly, and with a sweep of his wand, the chess set went soaring off the table and flying away, presumably to the Gryffindor boys' dormitory. Hermione didn't much care where it went as long as she didn't have to see little marble pieces hack one another to bits anymore.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she whispered. "I'm not trying to be -"

"No. You're right." Ron stared at his hands in his lap. "It's a stupid game."

They were quiet for a long moment, and Ron continued to look down while Hermione stared at him. He was more serious now, she thought, and much more handsome than he had been when they had first come to this place. The little boyish grins he'd shot about had turned into flirtatious smiles. The simpering look in his eyes when he saw piles of food or a good match of Quidditch… well, that was still there, but his eyes were less eager, somehow. They'd seen too much for a boy his age, and there was a strain behind them that made them look older. His jaw, his cheekbones, his nose… they'd hardened and become angular. The squishy, childish softness of his face had given way to the sharp lines of a man, and he was much taller than Hermione now. When had that happened?

Suddenly Ron was looking at her, and Hermione realized she'd been caught staring. She swept her tongue anxiously over her too-dry lips and stammered quickly,

"I… I have to go. I'm sorry. I have a terribly long essay to research for History of Magic. It's on Urg the Unclean. You know, the leader of the 18th century goblin rebellions? It's a critical biography. Anyway. I'll be in the library if you need me for anything. Not that you would need me for anything. But. You know. Just in case. That's where I'll be."

Hermione scowled at herself in embarrassment as she flushed red and yanked herself up from the table without another glance or word back at Ron, and as she walked briskly through the cloisters to the library, she wondered what on Earth had come over her. It was only Ron, after all. Just the silly little red-headed boy she'd been mothering for the past six years. She sighed and shook her head and put him out of her mind. She had an essay to write.

* * *

Severus did not frequent the Hogwarts library much as a member of the staff. He had amassed a large private collection of books, and therefore the pedestrian selection of literature available upon Madam Pince's shelves often proved woefully inadequate for his needs. As a teacher, his supervisory responsibilities did not extend into the library, where Madam Pince claimed sole jurisdiction. On the rare occasion that Severus had need of a book from these shelves, he entered the space on a Sunday afternoon, for that was when he was least likely to encounter students.

Today, he thought, there were sure to be none. It was still mid-September, and the weather outside was fair enough for pursuits like flying and walking about aimlessly, and snogging in hidden outdoor spots, and drinking forbidden firewhisky in the Astronomy Tower. Severus could not concern himself with any of it; he was not on patrol duty this afternoon. Let Minerva handle all the ill behavior the little cretins could throw at her.

Severus had been compiling lesson plans for his third-years for the next month, and had finally decided to turn to a text on centaurs (in order to magically copy and assign reading passages) that he did not personally possess. As he strode into the library, he had every confidence that any student with enough sense to be studying today would be doing so outdoors in the sunshine.

But, there she was. Hermione Granger. No surprise.

Severus swished past the table where she was hunched over a parchment, scribbling away furiously. It looked as though she had already written at least three feet of an essay, and she was entirely surrounded by thick tomes, most of which were open.

Severus rolled his eyes at her as he passed and continued on his way to the section on Magical Creatures and Beings. He glided his long fingertips over the spines of the aged books and silently mouthed the titles to himself until he found the one he wanted, and then he pulled it out.

The Stars From the Trees: Astronomical Techniques of the Centaurs.

It was a dry text, to be certain, and even Severus had no inclination to read the book in its entirety. He turned around and leaned his back casually against the stocky bookshelf, knowing that Madam Pince would eat a student alive for doing so. He flipped quickly through the pages of the book, searching out the section on Centaur designations for constellations.

"That's a wonderful book."

Severus pinched his eyebrows together tightly and frowned, glancing up to see Hermione Granger staring at him from her work table. She had sprawled out and was taking up the entire thing, Severus saw, though of course it did not matter since there was absolutely no one else in the entire library. Not even Madam Pince was here, apparently. Severus would have scolded her to be quiet, but he couldn't even do that, since there was no one to be quiet for. Instead, he slammed the enormous book shut and stood up straight, taking a few steps toward her table to hover above it.

"Under what pretense have you found the opportunity to read the entirety of The Stars From the Trees: Astronomical Techniques of the Centaurs, Miss Granger?" Severus cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at her and drummed his fingertips on the spine of his book. He shot her a look that told her in no uncertain terms that he was busy and she was bothering him.

Hermione Granger put her quill down beside her ridiculously long parchment and folded her hands neatly. "I had to write an essay for Astronomy on constellations last year," she pronounced in her too-clear method, "and I decided to focus on the Centaur designations rather than the traditional Greco-Roman ones."

Severus rose both his eyebrows now, his interest piqued. "I see."

"I found it fascinating, sir, that instead of seeing pots and pans in the sky, or crabs, or twins… the ancient Centaurs saw patterns. Not pictures. Patterns. Equations. It makes so much more sense. It's not Earth-centric. It's not relativist. Instead of the spatial relationships among the stars depending upon location, they depended on time to the ancient Centaurs… brilliant."

Hermione looked lost then, as if she had descended into her own thoughts. She had curled her own arms around herself and seemed to be wrapped in her own frightened sort of embrace, and her eyes stared blankly ahead as her words trailed into silence. Severus gazed at her in surprise for a long moment, alarmed by the level to which the information seemed to have affected the girl. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"Yes, well… as soon as I can find the chapter on constellations, I shall be copying it and assigning it to my third-year students," he said briskly. "I hope they find it as enlightening as you appear to have done."

She flicked her eyes up to him then, and there was a glint in them that Severus had never noticed before. Her lips curled up into a little smile. "Page three hundred and sixty," she said softly. "The chapter on constellations starts on page three hundred and sixty."

Severus frowned. How could she possibly remember such a mundane fact as that? He chewed the inside of his cheek and skeptically opened the enormous tome, turning the yellowed pages until he reached page three hundred and sixty.

Order in the Darkness: The Constellations As Seen By The Centaurs.

"It would seem you are correct," Severus conceded. "Thank you."

She was still smiling at him. It was disconcerting. Her little grin was not flirtatious, not inappropriate, just happy. He thought she must still be thinking deeply about the constellations, about the books surrounding her on the table - goblin rebellions, from the looks of it - and Severus shook his head. The girl was a head case.

"Well, that's all I needed. You should finish your essay, Miss Granger. The weather is fine. You ought to be out of doors on a day such as today. There won't be very many left before the hushed blanket of snow settles over this place."

Hermione nodded and glanced down at her parchment with a little sigh. "I'm nearly finished," she insisted, and though there were feet of parchment already written, Severus' experience with her essays told him that she could write much more and not be anywhere near done. "I'm just wrapping up the bit about how Urg the Unclean's being dunked into a pond by wizards led directly to his leading the rebellions. I've already stated my thesis and given factual assertions; I just need to wrap up a clean picture that wizarding bias and subsequent hateful behavior against goblins backfired in the form of violent uprisings."

"Mmm." Severus pinched his lips together and nodded at her. History of Magic had never been a favorite subject of his, and indeed he had found it distinctly boring as a student. Nevertheless, this particular essay struck a chord with him. How true it was, time and again, that the bullied fought back with fury.

Severus debated simply leaving Hermione to it, telling her to write quickly and get outside with all her peers. He thought about just grunting again and leaving the room. But he didn't, for some reason. A half hour later, he was still in the library, sitting at the table opposite Hermione, reading through her extensively long essay and discussing the subject matter with her at length.

"Well, would it be fair to say that most goblin uprisings in history were caused by wizarding bias and feelings of superiority?" Severus challenged after a while, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He wanted to hear her get forceful, to hear her words keen forth in the passionate way he knew they could. He goaded her. "Or was this the only goblin rebellion caused by wizard bullying?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, and she went so far as to rap her hand upon the table. Severus' eyebrows shot up in surprise as Hermione animatedly continued, "Indeed, I would assert that nearly every uprising by nearly every race of Magical Beings in history has been primarily the result of prejudice on the part of the wizarding community. For Urg the Unclean, a personal brush with bullying was enough to lead a bout of rebellions, but we can look to uprisings by Merpeople, Centaurs, and Veela for further examples. Whenever the wizarding community has declared itself superior, inevitably the repressed community of Beings gathers and revolts."

She swallowed heavily and looked spent, her mouth dropping open as if she were a bit surprised with herself. Her hand upon the table closed into a fist, and her upper teeth dug into her lower lip as her mouth quirked into a self-satisfied little smile. Severus found his own lips curling upward in what was less of his trademark sneer and more of a truly proud little expression.

"There." The word snapped off his tongue and shimmered with an encouragement Severus was unaccustomed to hearing in his own voice.

"I'm sorry, sir?" Hermione looked confused.

"That's your conclusion. To your essay." Severus gestured down at the parchment, and Hermione only then seemed to remember that that was why they were there, for the previous half hour had been spent in vociferous and enthusiastic discussion.

"Oh!" she exclaimed at last, her fingers shooting up to her lips. Then her eyes flicked up to Severus with an expression of horror. "I can't remember what I said."

Severus smirked crookedly and pushed her parchment across the table at her. His memory was better than anyone else's he knew. "I'll remind you," he said.

By the time Hermione was finished writing, the sun was low in the sky and the sconces on the library walls had begun to illuminate themselves. Hermione cast a drying spell upon her enormous essay and rolled the long parchment up, closing all her books and stacking them up one by one.

"Oh, I'll have to put them away by hand. I can't remember exactly where they go to banish them there," she lamented.

"You need to get to the Great Hall, or you shall be late for supper," Severus insisted. "I'll put these away for you."

"Are you quite certain, Professor?" her eyes glinted with gratitude as she shoved her scroll into her messenger bag and pulled her black school robes onto her shoulders. Severus nodded curtly.

"Go, Miss Granger. It won't do for you to miss a meal… otherwise, you might find yourself roaming the castle in the middle of the night with a rumbling stomach."

Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment and she lowered her gaze, but Severus could swear he saw the smallest hint of a smile there. He ignored her and took the first four books in his arms, stalking off toward the History of Magic section.

"Thank you for your help, Professor Snape," he heard her say from behind him, but Severus didn't answer. He shoved the books one at a time into the shelves, and when he went back to get more, Hermione Granger was gone.

* * *

Two-and-a-half weeks later, Hermione strode toward the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with an animated bounce in her step. She had her History of Magic essay rolled up in her messenger bag and was bringing it to Professor Snape's class. She intended to stay a moment after lessons to show him her high marks, and, most specifically, how Professor Binns had noted her 'clean and concise conclusion.'

She wanted to thank Professor Snape again for his help that day in the library, even though for the past several weeks he'd been his ordinary, ornery self with her and all the other students. Hermione could not help but remember how he had failed to tear her intellect down as they discussed goblin rebellions. He had nodded occasionally as she blathered on, asking prodding questions and inserting facts and figures to the best of his knowledge where Hermione was missing information. Only occasionally had he questioned Hermione's tactics or train of thought.

"Surely you can not propose that bullying is a sufficient excuse for violence," he had clicked at her, cocking a dark eyebrow over his heavily-lidded eyes. Hermione had gulped and felt her mind race as she struggled to form a quick answer for him.

"N-no… not always," she replied. "Only in instances of immediate self-defense. I'm not justifying the actions of the goblins, Professor! I'm merely providing a thread of commonality between historical events, which is discrimination from wizards."

Professor Snape had smirked knowingly at her then, and had looked very much as if he'd wanted to say something cutting and foul, but had instead nodded curtly. "Continue."

Hermione had never, not once in the past six years, felt any sense of encouragement from Professor Snape like she'd felt at that table in the library. His teaching style had always been belligerent and insulting. But there, among the open books, he had bantered freely with her and neglected to abuse her abilities. It had been like the sweetest breath of intellectual fresh air Hermione had ever breathed.

But, then, reality sank back in, and the next week in lessons, Professor Snape was back to his cutting and snide self. So, today, Hermione wanted to show him the evidence that his uncharacteristic mercy had paid off in spades. Her high marks on the essay were proof enough of that.

Her optimism was still alive when she took her seat between Ron and Harry in the classroom and listened obligingly as they chatted about drills they had planned for that evening's Quidditch practice. But then there was a great bang from the front of the classroom, and Hermione gasped a bit as she flicked her head up to the top of the winding stone staircase, where Professor Snape had just slammed shut the door. He was now descending the stairs with a purpose, his footfalls silent and cat-like as his lithe fingertips glided over the worn railing. The sixth-year students fell silent immediately, all conversations dying in mid-sentence.

Professor Snape never stopped moving, nor raised his eyes to the students, as he wordlessly flicked his wand at the windows. The heavy curtains fell down upon them, snuffing out the sunlight and cloaking the room in dingy shadows. With another lazy swish of his wand, Professor Snape willed the lanterns upon the wall to illuminate, and they simultaneously burst into flames, bathing the room in a dim, warm glow. By this time, Snape was coursing his way down the middle of the classroom, between the desks, and he gestured upward with his left hand as he barked,

"Out of your desks. All of you. Up to the front of the room."

The students obeyed without hesitation, taking their bags and books with them, and once they'd gathered in a nervous clump beneath the stairs, Snape whirled around and drew his wand in a silent arc around his body. The desks scraped and shuffled around the room as though guided by an invisible hand, until they were neatly arranged along the perimeter of the classroom. Professor Snape clasped his hands behind his back and stared at his pupils for a long moment, a sneer curling its way into his words as he pronounced softly,

"Nonverbal spells and charms are the easiest way to achieve one's means without giving away intent. They may be used for purposes as innocuous as shuttering a window, or lighting a sconce, or moving a desk. Or, they might be used to save your life."  
A few feet away from Hermione, Neville Longbottom shifted his weight and cleared his throat a bit anxiously. The boy had always seemed quite nervous around Professor Snape, as had most Gryffindors, and Hermione had to admit that today the teacher was more intimidating than ever.

"Our last attempt at nonverbal spells did not go very well." Professor Snape glared at Harry as he spoke, and Hermione flicked her eyes to her friend. Harry's cheeks flushed scarlet with embarrassment. Hermione recalled how Harry's shield charm, when shouted, had pushed Professor Snape backward into a desk. Then, to make it all worse, Harry had given lip to the teacher, disrespecting him in front of the entire class. Hermione pinched her lips in chagrin at the memory.

"Nevertheless," Professor Snape continued, "Mastery of nonverbal spells is an essential part of conquering Dark magic when it is hurled at your person. I have no confidence whatsoever that said mastery will be achieved today, or even during your time at Hogwarts. But your time to study it is finite, so let us waste no more of it. Pair up and stand on opposite sides of the room. Now."

Hermione expected Harry and Ron to pair up, and she started looking aimlessly about the classroom for a partner. But then she felt a tap upon her shoulder and whirled around to see Ron there, smiling shyly at her.

"All right, then?" he said simply, and Hermione could not help but notice the pink blush that coursed through his pale cheeks. Hermione glanced over Ron's shoulder to see Harry walking away from them with Seamus Finnegan, the two of them chortling like little boys about something or another. Parvati and Lavender had paired up, of course, and all the other pairings made sense, as well.

Hermione flashed a grateful little smile at Ron and nodded. They took opposite sides of the classroom, with Lavender Brown on one side of Hermione and Harry on her other. The students waited quietly for instructions, and then at last Professor Snape paced between the rows.

"The exercise is simple. Take it in turns: one partner runs toward the other, who points his or her wand and silently casts the incantation 'Impedimenta.' If you are successful, your partner's running steps should be slowed to a dramatic crawl, or even stop entirely. Otherwise, if you fail, your partner will run straight into you. Full marks to those who stop their partners four times today, with descending marks accordingly. Begin."

Professor Snape's instructions were curt, uncomplicated, and left no room for questions. As always. Hermione glanced up at Ron.

"Ladies first," he called playfully across the room. "Come on, then."

She sighed, having no confidence whatsoever that Ron would be able to stop her. Deciding to give him plenty of time to prepare his nonverbal spell, she called out, "Three, two, one!" and then took off slowly trotting. Ron pointed his wand at her and narrowed his eyes, his face going beet red with concentration. Nothing happened.

Hermione deliberately slowed her steps so that she was only partially running. Around her, muted giggling rang out as students failed to impede their partners, who crashed into them or into the walls running. At last, Hermione felt a weak trembling in her feet, which spread like a creeping itch up her legs and torso until she could scarcely move. She felt quite heavy for about five seconds, and then her movement was entirely free again.

Ron's face erupted with pride as he nodded and folded his arms over his chest. "Knew I could do it," he said with a smug look. Hermione rolled her eyes with a grin and turned around, heading back to her side of the classroom. When she turned back to face Ron, she gasped, for not two feet before her was a wall of black cloth, and when Hermione raised her gaze, she was staring straight into the angry dark eyes of Professor Snape.

"Do not go easy on him, Miss Granger. You will only fool him into believing he possesses abilities he does not."

Professor Snape sounded irate, his words growling forth in a quiet hiss that only she could hear. Hermione sank her teeth into her bottom lip and nodded apologetically. "Yes, sir," she whispered, feeling a flush of embarrassment on her cheekbones. Professor Snape whisked away from her, his teaching robes billowing behind him as he barked criticism at Parvati Patil.

Ron glowered at Professor Snape, showing his characteristic hatred for the man, and Hermione shrugged at her friend as if to say that the quiet interaction was nothing at all. She beckoned for Ron to come at her, and, without warning, he was dashing quickly across the room.

Hermione's wand shot up, and she pulled all of her magic to the core of her mind before shooting it forth from her eyes and her wand in a silent will of power. Impedimenta! she thought, screaming the incantation in her head.

Ron's running steps ceased immediately, and his body pulled up off the ground a few feet before whooshing backward a bit. A frightened look crossed her friend's face as his immobilized body crashed downward, landing with a loud thud upon the stone floor of the classroom. Hermione glanced around anxiously to see that the other students were all watching her and Ron, and that Professor Snape had interrupted berating Seamus Finnegan to observe. Lavender Brown let out a horrified squeal beside Hermione.

Ron lay upon the ground for longer than Hermione would have expected, at least half a minute, and so she pattered over to him and stared down into his angry-looking eyes.

"Sorry, Ron!" she murmured apologetically, helping him to his feet once he was able to move and the spell had worn off. Her nonverbal incantation had been more powerful than she'd expected, or even intended.

Ron looked around the room and saw that everyone was watching him, and Hermione noted the scarlet humiliation that flamed over his face. He brushed the dust off of his school robes and reached down to pick his wand up off the ground.

"It's all right, 'Mione," he said. "Let's go again, eh?" He managed a weak smile at her before turning back to his side of the room.

Soon enough the other students resumed their activities. Hermione completely halted Ron every time he ran at her, but he was unable to stop her at all. By the end of the lesson, Ron was cross and cranky, and Hermione shoved her supplies into her school bag with a scowl upon her face.

"Really, Ronald," she huffed, "I was only doing as instructed."

"Whatever, 'Mione." Ron stormed out of the room, followed by Harry, who turned at shrugged apologetically at Hermione.

She stood for a long moment at her desk, which had been restored to its place by Professor Snape just prior to the end of lessons. Her eyes stung a bit as she realized that she'd made Ron furious simply by following directions. She had hardly meant to embarrass him.

As Hermione moved to buckle her bag closed, she spotted her rolled-up History of Magic essay, the one she had intended to show to Professor Snape. She glanced up to the front of the classroom and saw him at his desk, hunched over a pile of parchments that he was marking with sharp flicks of his black quill. Hermione stood watching him for a long moment, longer than she realized, and was jolted back to reality when she heard Professor Snape bark,

"Is there some particular reason the third floor is graced with your presence for an inordinately long time today, Miss Granger?" He glared up at her from his work, and as Hermione looked around the room, she realized all the other sixth-years had left the classroom. She cleared her throat and blinked quickly, her mind flashing to the History of Magic essay in her bag. But before she could reach for it, Professor Snape spoke again. His words were clipped and pointed. "Mr. Weasley was made to feel inferior today by your abilities. That is no fault of yours, so do not dwell on his imbecilic tantrum."

"I…" Hermione felt her mouth open in surprise. Had Professor Snape just obliquely complimented her skills? It certainly seemed like he'd done so, even if he'd had to do it by insulting Ron. But, then, Professor Snape flicked his eyebrows up dismissively and returned to marking parchments.

"You have remarkably poor taste in associates, Miss Granger." Professor Snape drawled this insult lazily as his quill scratched out a lengthy sentence upon a parchment, and Hermione's mind fizzled out any thought of a compliment. She shut her mouth quickly and bit the inside of her cheek, feeling insulted. When Professor Snape finally looked back up at her, she fully expected to see annoyance in his dark eyes that she was still standing like a fool at her desk. Instead, she saw nothing. He gazed blankly at her and flicked up an eyebrow. "Was there anything else?"

Hermione glanced down at her school bag and thought of the History of Magic essay. She finished buckling the bag and pulled it over her shoulder, straightening her school robes with a little sniff. "No, sir," she said softly. "Have a nice afternoon."

* * *

Severus landed back upon the outer grounds of Hogwarts with a resounding crack, feeling more nauseated than he usually did after Apparating. He was returning from a meeting with the Dark Lord, this time having been interrogated about Draco Malfoy's failed attempt to assassinate Albus Dumbledore.

Striding purposefully through the darkness, Severus made his way through the castle until he reached the gargoyle at the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Toothflossing Stringmints," Severus muttered, and the path was opened for him to patter up the stone stairs until he reached the lantern-lit expanse of the Headmaster's office. He knew Dumbledore had been here for hours, waiting for Severus' return.

"Well?" Dumbledore sounded more anxious than usual, his voice reedy and tight when Severus entered the room. He was facing the roaring fire in the hearth, and his ancient hands were clasped behind his back. Severus could see the black rot eating its way up Dumbledore's wrist. It was getting worse. Much worse. Steeling himself, Severus licked his lips and said,

"The Dark Lord is getting impatient with Draco, to say the least. He believes the boy is using ineffective and clumsy methods, and he doubts Draco will succeed in a timely manner."

Dumbledore nodded, still not turning around from the fireplace. "It has been two weeks since Miss Bell was sent to St. Mungo's," the old wizard noted sadly, "and I have no idea when, or even if, the poor girl will rejoin us here. The curse from the necklace has steeped itself deeply into her body and soul. I find myself consumed with guilt over the matter, Severus. The curse was meant for me, and yet a student was on the receiving end of an Unforgivable as well as a Dark object that nearly killed her…"

Severus could empathize with Dumbledore' sensation of guilt, but he found himself relieved that the cursed necklace had not made its way to Dumbledore. If it had, Severus' Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa Malfoy would have been void, which would have been fatal to Severus. Draco Malfoy would have also then been guilty of murder, an act that would have irrevocably damaged his soul. And Katie Bell would have still been Imperiused into delivering the murder weapon, which would have surely eaten at her for the rest of her life. No, it was better this way, even if the poor girl spent months in St. Mungo's for it.

"Our little Golden Trio are onto Draco," Severus said suddenly to Dumbledore, and the wizened old man turned around with a notable absence of surprise. Severus continued, "When Filch brought the necklace to Minerva and myself, Potter suggested openly that Draco was behind it."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Yes," he murmured, "I'm afraid the two of them have always embodied the stereotypical enmity between Slytherin and Gryffindor Houses."

Severus sneered and hissed through his teeth, "This has nothing to do with Houses and everything to do with murder. Lives are at stake, Albus."

Again, Dumbledore merely nodded. He strode over to his desk and took the lid off a small crystal bowl, using a small pair of silver tongs to extract some globular candies into his palm. He held his hand out to Severus. "Pear drop?"

Severus shook his head resolutely. "No, thank you."

"What did Miss Granger say when Harry suggested that Draco was behind the cursed necklace?" Dumbledore popped a sweet between his thin lips and chewed thoughtfully. Severus furrowed his eyebrows and shrugged, sinking into the chair across from Dumbledore's desk.

"She said nothing in front of Minerva. She shot daggers into me with her suspicious glare, just like Weasley did, letting Potter speak for the trio. As always." He paused, remembering how Hermione had lingered hesitantly in the corridor after the incident, her arms wrapped around herself in a frightened sort of self-embrace. Severus looked up at Dumbledore, chewing his lip thoughtfully as he said, "She asked me whether Miss Bell was going to live. I told her I could not say for certain; that the magic in the necklace was very dark indeed. Miss Granger then said that she felt very sorry for whomever had given the necklace to Miss Bell. 'It must take a very dark soul to employ such Dark Arts,' she said. 'Or, perhaps, the failure of the method means the soul has not blackened completely.'"

She had walked away from Severus then, scurrying off down the corridor after her friends and leaving Severus silently baffled in her wake. Dumbledore smiled weakly as Severus related the events of that day weeks earlier, stroking his long white beard as a soft glint crossed his pale eyes.

"She has a gentle heart, Miss Granger does, but a curious mind. Look out for her, Severus. In the days ahead, she must be kept safe... She is vitally important to Harry's success. We mustn't allow Miss Granger's inquiring mind to get the better of her." Dumbledore took another pear drop from the crystal bowl on his desk and chewed it, holding another out to Severus. Once again, the younger wizard refused. Why was it that every blasted time he was in this office, he was being peddled sweets? Was this Honeydukes or Hogwarts?

"Your Slytherin Quidditch team missed your presence this afternoon, Severus," Dumbledore sniffed. "They lost their first match to Gryffindor, I'm afraid."

"Naturally." Severus sneered his discontent. A too-clear image danced in his mind of Potter triumphantly grasping the Snitch from the air whilst the green-clad Slytherin players frowned in disappointment. Severus felt the corners of his lips turn down. "I suppose they're sulking in the dungeons. I shall go do my duty as their therapist… that is, their Head of House."

He pushed himself up from the chair and nodded briskly at Dumbledore before straightening his cravat and snapping his traveling cloak more neatly around his frame. He tried not to think at all about his earlier meeting with the Dark Lord as he strode with false confidence through the Hogwarts corridors. He cleared his mind and plastered on his trademark sneer, even though there was no one to see it.

Severus could hear the thudding and whooping of the Gryffindor celebrations a whole storey below the Tower. The post-Quidditch party in the Gryffindor Common Room sounded as though it were in full swing, and as Severus continued down a dark row of classrooms, he spotted one with the door slightly ajar. He rolled his eyes, thinking that two celebrating Gryffindors had likely chosen the spot for an out-of-the-way snog. Perhaps on another night, Severus might ignore the cracked door, but the Quidditch party was annoying him, and so his mood had fouled considerably since leaving the Headmaster's Office.

A satisfied leer crossed Severus' lips as he drew his wand and prepared to assign detentions and deduct the few points Gryffindor had managed to amass in the past few weeks. He tossed open the door to the classroom, taking mental bets with himself on which couple of Lions he would find sucking face therein.

But there was only one Gryffindor in the deserted classroom - Hermione Granger - and she sat atop a desk with her knees drawn up to her chest and her head burrowed against her thighs, her back shuddering pitifully as she cried.

Severus froze, suddenly wanting nothing more than to turn around and walk away, to go down to the Slytherin dungeons and give his House some consolation on their loss. This... this sight, a lone teenage girl crying atop a desk... this was not at all what he felt like dealing with tonight.

But, alas, Hermione's puffy, tear-streaked face flew up at the sound of the door banging open, and Severus was trapped. His wand was pointed at her, he realized, and he quickly lowered it. Hermione sniffed deeply and drew the sleeve of her sweater over her mouth, her breath quivering as she squeaked in disbelief,

"Professor Snape?"

Severus realized it was only nine-thirty, and therefore he could not even scold the girl for being out alone. She was a Prefect, and this was an unlocked classroom. Technically, she was breaking no rules. But he was hardly about to apologize for intruding upon what was clearly a very private moment.

"Miss Granger," he said tightly, "I... had expected to find a couple here, perhaps. What with the party."

Severus felt his cheeks color, for the words had not come out as authoritatively, or even as clearly, as he had intended them to do. He chewed upon his bottom lip and nodded, turning to go.

"Yes, well. There are plenty of those tonight," Hermione spat bitterly. "Just ask Ronald and Lavender."

Severus paused with his hand upon the door handle. He rolled his eyes and turned back to face the girl. "I make no apologies for my opinions on Mr. Weasley," he said, a bit more gently than he was wont to do, "as regards his association with you, Miss Granger. He is a child, still."

Hermione sat upon the desk and stared at Severus for a very long moment before saying anything. Severus suddenly thought perhaps he ought not to have said that to her. It wasn't that he regretted speaking ill of Ronald Weasley. It was that there was an implication in his words... If Ron Weasley was a child, what did that make Hermione Granger? In September, he knew, she had come of age. She certainly did not look like a child anymore, though Severus did not allow himself to regard any female student in that capacity.

What irked Severus, though, was seeing Hermione Granger trail after the immature ginger like a puppy after a bone. Ronald Weasley was obsessed with Quidditch and snogging and sweets and games. He always would be. The boy was less intelligent than a mountain troll, and Hermione Granger, of all people, would deign to waste her time with him? It bothered Severus, more than other students' trivial personal pursuits did. Her intelligence seemed too precious to be wasted on a beastly child like Weasley.

And now she was staring at him, her chestnut eyes wide and shining with tears. She looked... confused. Her lips parted as if to speak, but for a long moment, Hermione hesitated. Severus was about to insult her, to tell her that she looked like a fish again with her mouth hanging open, but then the girl said in an odd voice,

"You've got your traveling cloak on again, sir."

Severus glanced down at himself as if to confirm it. He frowned, crinkling his eyebrows, and narrowed his eyes at Hermione. "So what if I have? What business is it of yours, Miss Granger?"

She knows. She knows I was meeting with Death Eaters. The thought rattled about in Severus' head like a frantic hex, and he swallowed heavily. He watched Hermione for any tell she might have to indicate suspicion - a twitch of her eyelid, the way she dug her teeth into her bottom lip, a flush in her cheeks. But there was nothing. She shook her head kindly and shrugged, swiping a stray tear from her cheekbone. Her face was still blotchy from crying, but, Severus thought absently, she looked pretty enough in spite of it.

Severus remembered clearly what Hermione Granger had been like as a first-year, not only in appearance but in attitude and behavior. She had been downright unlikable, to other students and to many of the teachers, for suffocating the classroom with her arrogant bookishness. She had been a skinny, shapeless little thing in her baggy grey sweater and too-long school robes. Her bushy mass of hair had frizzed around her head like a dull brown halo, and freckles had dusted across her pudgy little nose.

Somewhere along the way, something had happened. Severus had not been paying attention, for he was a teacher and did not make a habit of tracking the pubescent development of his female students. But tonight, for some reason that made him acutely uncomfortable, the evolution of Hermione Granger had become very abruptly obvious.

Somewhere along the way, her shape had turned into what Severus might call petite and shapely, with a narrow waist and small bust, a gentle curve here and there, but nothing drastic. She was much shorter than most of the boys and many of the girls in her year, but lean enough that she seemed quite proportional.

The bushy fuzz atop her head, at some point, had been tamed. It was now a smooth cascade of waves and loose curls, caramel with swirls of cocoa and honey. Her face was still dusted with pale freckles, though they now danced across more angular cheekbones and a nose that had thinned and become more elegant.

Severus pinched his lips together tightly as it occurred to him that there was something inappropriately provocative in the way Miss Granger was sitting upon the desk, with her knees pulled up to her chest so that her school-issued pleated skirt draped gracefully around her thighs. He cleared his throat roughly and sniffed a bit before lowering his eyes to the stone floor of the classroom.

Never in over fifteen years of teaching had he laid a single covetous or lewd glance upon a student. The girls in his classes had always been just that - girls, young students under his charge. They aspired to snog boys a year above them and worried more about perfecting cosmetic spells than shield charms. They relished the day when they could legally buy and swig down elderflower wine, and the ultimate achievement in Transfiguration was the creation of a perfectly tailored jumper. That was what a seventeen-year-old girl was, wasn't it? That was what Severus had seen over the past fifteen years of teaching, almost without exception.

But Hermione Granger… here she sat, folded up shamelessly atop the desk, her tear-streaked face completely bare of any makeup whatsoever. Though her hair had been smoothed by age (and, probably, more refined combing technique), it was clear that Miss Granger did not obsess over Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. No, her priorities were elsewhere.

The bushy-haired little girl was gone. In her place was the young woman who had bantered with Severus about goblin rebellions, the lass who had cast some of the most powerful nonverbal spells he'd ever seen among a student. She was not the buck-toothed know-it-all from years past. She was impressive. She was not like the rest.

Stop it now, Severus. What the blazes has gotten into your thick skull?

In a flash, Severus found himself facing out into the dark corridor, his mind galloping with confusion. What on Earth had just happened? He had come to this classroom seeking a couple of Gryffindors upon whom he could impose a few weekends' worth of detentions, from whom he could take twenty House points. That would have made this miserable night at least mildly tolerable. How had that turned into… whatever this was? Contemplating the maturation of a student and staring at her for an inappropriate length of time?

Leave, Severus. Go to the dungeons before the girl notices the way you looked at her. She notices everything. Everything! Are you honestly fool enough to think she did not see how your wicked eyes stared at her? Leave. Go now and leave her be.

"P-Professor Snape?"

Severus froze with one foot out the door and ground his teeth hard against one another. She was infuriating, if he was honest with himself. He flicked his tongue irritatedly over his dry lips and scowled as he turned back around, alarmed to see that Hermione had slipped off of the desk and was standing a few feet in front of him, staring up at him with her wide chestnut eyes still damp from crying.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wringing her hands anxiously in front of her. Severus rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath.

"Miss Granger," he growled, "your adolescent romantic melodramas are of precisely no interest to me. You are breaking no rules by sulking alone here, so if you care to mourn the fact that Mr. Weasley is snogging someone else, by all means, please do. It hardly affects my evening. Consider this dusty, empty classroom your shoulder to cry on."

He swept his hand grandly toward the space and rolled his eyes once more. But then he flicked his obsidian eyes down to Hermione Granger and saw that she was chewing her lip and shaking her head insistently.

"No, sir," she murmured, seemingly unaffected by Severus' insult. "I mean to say, I'm sorry for assuming… for insinuating… that is, Professor, you are quite right. Where you go in your traveling cloak is none of my business."

She nodded, more to herself than to him, and set her jaw squarely. Severus pulled his chin up and sniffed with a hint of suspicion.

"No, it isn't," he said softly, his mind screaming at him to just leave now. So without so much as a 'Good evening, Miss Granger,' Severus spun upon his heel and strode over the threshold of the empty classroom, leaving Hermione Granger behind as he made his way down to the Slytherin dungeons.

* * *

Hermione sighed and gave herself a final appraisal in the mirror. Professor Slughorn's Christmas party started in less than an hour, and Cormac McLaggen was probably already waiting for her in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Oh, Hermione… I can't believe you Transfigured those dress robes by yourself!"

Parvati wandered into the girls' dormitory, a half-eaten tart from the Great Hall in one hand and a well-worn copy of Saucy Tricks For Tricky Sorts in the other. She took a bite of her tart and cast her dark eyes over Hermione approvingly. Hermione pursed her lips nervously.

"Are you certain?" she asked, looking back at her reflection. Parvati nodded emphatically.

"How did you do it?" she demanded.

"I started with a simple set of grey dress robes from Madam Malkin's," Hermione admitted, "and used a variety of charms to add the details, mold the shape, trim the sleeves, alter the neckline, and change the material."

"So, you basically made it from scratch, then." Parvati grinned widely and flopped onto her bed. Hermione smirked at the mirror proudly.

If she was honest with herself, it had taken quite a bit of work to make her dress robes for tonight, but she thought it well worth the effort. It wasn't often that Hermione tried hard to look decent, and on the rare occasion that she did, the finished product was gratifying… if only for one evening.

Now Hermione stood before her long mirror in a gown the color of smoke, which she had charmed to be made from a soft, liquid-looking silk. The three-quarter length sleeves had cutouts all up the sides, split to reveal Hermione's trim upper arms, so that the dress looked like something a Greek goddess might wear. The neckline was a bit plunging, perhaps, but the ruching that led to the waistline helped moderate the effect. At the nipped-in waist, Hermione had Conjured a jeweled silver belt, which glittered and sparkled every time she twisted her waist. The A-line skirt of the robes tumbled down to pool neatly around her feet.

Those feet were sheathed in a pair of glamorous shoes that Hermione had Transfigured from a pair of plain black loafers. She had every intention of changing them back for lessons on Monday. Tonight, though, they were silver peep-toe heels with a winding cage of jeweled leather swirling up around Hermione's feet and ankles.

She had Transfigured a few mundane items - a comb, a watch, and a scarf - into glamorous jewelry for the occasion. Silver-toned earrings with tear-drop rubies dangled from her ears, while a matching pendant hung delicately around her neck. A glittering silver comb was stuck into her hair, which she'd tamed into a sleek French twist for the night, leaving a few tendrils around her face. Hermione had kept her makeup conservative so that she did not look radically different from her normal appearance, but she had applied a bit of tinted face cream, a dusting of gunmetal eye shadow, a coat of mascara, and a ruby-hued lip balm. A dab of daisy-scented perfume upon each wrist was the final touch. As she surveyed herself in the mirror, Hermione thought she was as satisfied as she was likely to be.

"Cormac McLaggen is waiting for you downstairs," Parvati said from her bed, licking tart from her fingertips, and Hermione nodded solemnly.

"Right," she said, and she grabbed her wand and her small black velvet drawstring purse from her nightstand as she headed out of the dormitory.

"Have fun," Parvati called after her, and Hermione thought with a pang of guilt that the other girl sounded a bit sad that she was not included in the Slug Club party.

"All right, Granger," Cormac said approvingly when Hermione swept into the Gryffindor Common Room. Her silk skirts trailed behind her a bit as she walked, sweeping mellifluously with every step she took. Hermione felt proud of her handiwork. But Cormac's eyes were trained squarely upon her chest, and suddenly Hermione thought she had made the neckline of her gown entirely too low. She cleared her throat a bit and smiled self-consciously when Cormac flicked his eyes mischievously up to meet Hermione's.

"Ready to go?" she asked tightly, and Cormac nodded squarely.

As the two of them strode down the sixth floor corridor to Professor Slughorn's office, Cormac surprised Hermione by saying brashly, "You look like a proper nymph, Granger! Quite a dress."

Hermione felt her cheeks color. She wasn't sure whether it would be more appropriate to thank Cormac or to slap him, so instead she said nothing and quickened her steps. Soon enough they were at Slughorn's office, and once inside Hermione found herself immersed in a bath of red and green cloths, surrounded by boisterous caroling. Almost immediately, Cormac fetched Hermione a glass of elderflower wine, and Hermione gulped it down more quickly than she might have otherwise done, for she felt ill at ease with Cormac, and she did not yet see Harry or Ron.

"Look up," Hermione heard Cormac say after her second glass of wine, and she did. She wished she had not done so, for above her head dangled a mockingly cheerful ball of mistletoe. Hermione lowered her face to tell Cormac that mistletoe was a silly tradition, but as soon as she did she found her lips trapped by his.

His hands were on her shoulders, heavy and hot and moist, and his lips were pushing hard against hers. Hermione squealed angrily against Cormac's mouth and thrust her empty wine glass against his chest, stumbling backward away from him. Cormac let out a low, rumbling chuckle, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth and ignoring Hermione's scowl of rage.

"Sorry," he said insincerely. "Got swept up in the cheer of the season."

"I'm going to find my friends," Hermione said snippily, wishing very much that she had not agreed to come here with Cormac McLaggen. As she strode away from him, she determined that he could spend the rest of the evening alone, for all she cared. She tripped a bit over her high stiletto heel, but caught herself. At the sight of her little stagger, Professor Snape cocked his face away from his half-hearted conversation with Professor Slughorn and eyed her carefully.

"All right, there, Miss Granger?" Professor Slughorn called loudly, and Hermione smiled tightly at him with a little wave, thinking that the man looked as if he'd had far more wine than she had. She drifted over to the professors, feeling obligated to pay respects to the host of the party.

"Good evening, sirs," she said politely, nodding to Slughorn and Snape in turn. She lowered her gaze to her empty wine goblet and frowned.

"It looks as though Mr. McLaggen got a bit frisky under the mistletoe, eh?" Professor Slughorn guffawed, and Hermione felt her cheeks flush hot and red. She could not bring herself to look up, for Professor Snape was standing beside her, and she did not wish to look at him after two glasses of wine and a run-in with McLaggen. She wasn't sure quite why not. "Oh, but, Miss Granger, you simply must try the honey-mead. It is delicious. Here!"

Professor Slughorn seized Hermione's empty wine glass and thrust a full stein of amber mead into her hands, sloshing a bit over the rim. Hermione grimaced as she dodged the spill, looking up at Professor Snape as if to silently plead for assistance.

"I think Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter have just come in," Professor Snape drawled, taking a sip of the whisky he held. "I'm sure they would love to see you in your fancy attire, Miss Granger."

"Yes. Well. Wonderful to see you both. Thank you for the invitation, Professor Slughorn… and for the mead." Hermione raised her mug and smiled tightly, and then she dashed off as quickly as she possibly could.

She spent the next twenty minutes talking to Ron and Harry, and then another half hour after that with Luna. Somehow, she made it through two servings of mead in that time. By the end of her conversation with Luna, Hermione had become almost fully convinced that there was a danger of extinction among Norwegian lake selmas due to the presence of other, more dangerous water-dwelling cryptids. It was all hazy, but Luna explained it beautifully, and it made perfect sense under the influence of abundant alcohol.

"Hermione."

She whirled around her shoulder, which was a mistake in her increasingly intoxicated state, and saw Harry standing before her with a look of grave concern painted upon his face.

"What's wrong, Harry?" she asked. Ron sidled up beside her, and for the next ten minutes, Hermione tried desperately to focus as Harry explained that he'd overheard Professor Snape and Draco having a most compromising conversation.

"What do you mean, he took an Unbreakable Vow?" Hermione hissed, dragging the boys into a quiet alcove and nearly stumbling as she did. Something compelled her to grab another glass of wine from a tray, and the boys were too focused on the conversation to stop her. She sipped anxiously from the wine as Harry explained.

"He told Draco he'd promised his mother that he would protect him and help him."

"What do you suppose Draco is planning?" Ron looked terrified, and he swigged at his own mead.

"I dunno," Harry shook his head helplessly.

"Well, this is just ridiculous," Hermione sighed breathlessly, drinking the last of the wine. "We know full well that Professor Dumbledore trusts Professor Snape. This must be part of how he's working for the Order. We ought not jump to conclusions."

"Hermione, how can you possibly trust that greasy git after Harry hears something like this?" Ron sneered, disgust evident in his voice. Hermione felt her ears grow hot with anger as she looked up and down at Ron. His dress robes were very ugly, she thought suddenly, ignoring the conversation at hand.

"You both are blinded by hatred," she said finally, "and by a lack of trust that you decided upon long ago. Dumbledore trusts Professor Snape, and that's good enough for me. Now, if you recall, Ronald, I asked you to come to this party with me, and you turned me down. I'm going to find my date now. Goodnight, gentlemen."

She huffed off, knowing perfectly well that her steps were swooping and crooked. The room was swaying, the music sounding far-off, and Hermione knew in that moment that she had had entirely too much to drink. Ignoring that niggling thought, Hermione spotted Cormac upon a velveteen bench and strode over to him. He rose with a cocky smirk upon his lips and stuck his arm out to her.

"Thought you'd find your way back to me," he slurred, and Hermione could smell firewhisky on his breath.

Cormac dragged Hermione out of Slughorn's office, somehow, and before she knew what was going on, they were alone in the corridor. Hermione registered the absence of the Christmas carols, the transition from red and gold and green to the dark greys of the stone hallway. But when her back pressed up against the cold wall, she shut her eyes, for she was suddenly very tired.

"I think I'd like to go back to Gryffindor Tower now," she murmured to Cormac, her eyes still shut. "I'm sorry. I had far too much to drink. I've only ever had a few butterbeers, or a half a tumbler of firewhisky at most… never like this… so stupid…"

She bent over at the waist, a wave of nausea crashing over her like an ocean wave, and tried hard not to vomit. When the nausea passed, she stood upright again and cracked open her eyes, surprised to see Cormac McLaggen still standing in front of her. He had a hungry look in his eyes that frightened Hermione a bit. She thought she should leave, that he looked far too interested in her, but her legs felt like they were made of lead, and her mind felt like slush.

"Cormac," she muttered, "I'm going back to my room now."

He was pulling her hands up to nestle in his sandy blonde curls, and he let out a low moan of pleasure as he moved her fingertips against his scalp. Hermione tried to recoil… why was she giving him a head massage? But then his lips were on hers again, like they'd been under the mistletoe, and when she pulled her face away in disgust, Cormac moved his mouth to Hermione's neck.

"You look very pretty tonight, Granger," he mumbled against her skin, and the rumble of his voice made Hermione shudder. She wanted him to go away, to leave her alone, but she just stood there, feeling her eyes well with silent, desperate tears.

"No, Cormac…" she whimpered meekly, her hands reaching up to his shoulders to push him off of her body. He flew away from her, stumbling backward forcefully, and Hermione wondered vaguely how on Earth she'd managed to push him so hard. Then she heard Professor Snape growl at Cormac,

"Stand up, Mr. McLaggen."

Hermione pulled herself up against the stone wall and sniffled, watching with fascination as Cormac staggered drunkenly to his feet and came eye-to-eye with the raven-haired teacher.

Professor Snape looked handsome tonight, Hermione thought distantly. He wore no billowing robes, only a nicely tailored jacket with small buttons all down the front and at the narrow sleeves. The trimmings of a crisp white shirt peeked out around the high neckline and at his wrists, and his trousers tapered elegantly to glossy dress shoes. Even his stringy hair looked more in order tonight, falling in inky contours around his severe face. At the moment, Professor Snape looked quite unhappy, with his wand gripped tightly at his right side and his left hand balled into a white-knuckled fist.

"I believe Miss Granger has had quite enough of your company for this evening," Professor Snape told McLaggen, "and, since you seem to have had quite enough firewhisky, I think it is high time you found your way back to Gryffindor Tower. You shall have detentions with Mr. Filch for six Sunday nights beginning at the recommencement of term. Go to bed, Mr. McLaggen. Now."

Cormac looked abashed at having been caught by Snape, and irritated at having been assigned detention, but he scurried down the corridor without another word. Hermione watched him go, swaying on her feet, and then suddenly dissolved into silent tears again as she remembered the unwanted feel of his mouth on her neck.

"Miss Granger." Professor Snape's tone was gentler than Hermione had ever heard it, and though he stood a few feet away, his words were barely louder than a whisper. Hermione raised her eyes to Professor Snape's. His dark eyes looked almost sad, or perhaps tired, as he asked softly, "Is there any reason I should escort you to Madam Pomfrey, Miss Granger?"

He wanted to know if Cormac had done anything to her… truly done anything to her. Hermione shook her head no, burying her face in her quivering hands.

"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered. "I should not have had so much to drink, and I -"

"No, you should not have," Professor Snape agreed firmly, "but to the best of my knowledge, Mr. McLaggen is a proficient speaker of the English language. When I came into the corridor, I distinctly heard you tell him 'no.' And, yet, he persisted in kissing you. That is…"

Professor Snape's lips pursed angrily, and Hermione saw a deep scarlet flush of anger course over his cheeks. His fists clenched at his sides again, and he lowered his obsidian eyes to the ground. "I shall be speaking with Professor Dumbledore about this," he promised. "You should come with me, Miss Granger. I do not want you to return to your dormitory intoxicated and emotionally distressed. I have a potion that will sober you up quickly so that you can go straight to bed."

Hermione nodded drowsily and followed Professor Snape down the corridor, walking in silence until they reached a winding staircase. For two flights of stairs, Hermione managed to successfully follow Professor Snape, but then her drunken ankles betrayed her, and her high heels gave way. She tumbled down a few stairs and crashed into the back of Professor Snape, reaching for him in desperation.

She clutched at his jacket as she staggered to stand upright, and she felt his strong hands grasping her arms, pulling her back to her feet. Then she heard his indignant sigh as he huffed,

"Miss Granger, you'd be far better off barefoot than with those ridiculous shoes. Go on. Take them off."

Hermione felt humiliated as she held fast to Professor Snape's forearm for balance with one hand while using the other to yank off one shoe at a time. She grasped the stilettos in her fingers and held up her long skirts as she padded silently down the stairs behind the professor, who now seemed thoroughly irritated.

Eventually, they reached the third floor, and then the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Hermione stood helplessly inside the cavernous space as Professor Snape wordlessly lit the sconces and proceeded briskly up the stone staircase to his office. She waited for him at the desk where she always sat for lessons, glancing about the empty room. She mused that it felt a bit strange to be in here alone, in a gown, in the middle of the night, completely drunk.

Finally, Professor Snape trotted down the stone staircase, carrying a glass phial in one hand and an empty goblet in the other. He approached the desk where Hermione sat and pulled a chair away from another desk so that he could sit opposite her. He set the small, dark blue phial down upon the desk before Hermione, and then the empty goblet.

"Aguamenti." Professor Snape pointed the tip of his wand into the goblet, and a small jet of water burst forth until the cup was full. He pushed the goblet across the table at Hermione. "The Nec Mora Arida Potion rapidly accelerates the process of alcoholic metabolism, leading to full sobriety within twenty minutes. The potion can also contribute to dehydration, so drink up, Miss Granger." He gestured at the water.

Hermione decided to down the goblet of water first, taking the water down in four large gulps. She then picked up the little blue phial of Nec Mora Arida Potion and pulled out its cork, tipping back the contents into her mouth. It tasted like licorice and chalk and something cloyingly sweet, all at once, and Hermione gagged a bit. Professor Snape conjured more water for her, which she gladly sipped, and nodded her thanks.

"I'm very sorry, Professor Snape," she said at last, after he had tucked the empty glass phial into the pocket of his black jacket and Vanished the goblet.

"Why?" He sounded annoyed by her question, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he sat back in his chair with an ankle crossed over the opposite knee.

"I should not have let him -"

"Stop it." Professor Snape shook his head quickly, sniffing as he looked away from Hermione. She furrowed her eyebrows, wondering in her drunken state if she'd made him angry for some reason by apologizing. He looked very handsome, Hermione thought again, and she would hate to make him angry. He finally returned his piercing black gaze to her and muttered, "many boys your age don't yet know how to be gentlemen. I'm sorry for that. Sorry that you…"

He stopped, pulling himself up short as though he realized he were about to start rambling off an aimless apology at her. He squared his jaw and nodded once, curtly, crossing his arms more tightly and looking away again. "Let me know when you feel more clear-headed, Miss Granger, and I shall escort you back to Gryffindor Tower."

Hermione nodded blankly. She folded her hands atop the desk and stared at them for a moment. She opened her mouth to speak and then shut it again, knowing that what she was considering saying might lead to all sorts of trouble. But then she blinked heavily and made up her mind.

"Professor," she said nervously, raising her eyes to him, "Harry heard you talking to Draco tonight."

He did not look as surprised as Hermione thought he might, and indeed Professor Snape appeared to examine his fingernails for a good long moment after she spoke.

"Professor?"

"I heard you, Miss Granger."

Hermione frowned. She chewed upon her lip and waited for him to explain, and when he did not she pressed, "He said the conversation made it seem as though Draco is involved in something awful, sir, and Harry seems to think you are complicit in it."

"You do not sound as convinced of my guilt." Professor Snape cocked an eyebrow at her, looking mildly amused, and Hermione sighed in frustration. He was maddening sometimes, this man. He put up a stony front over his gaunt, severe features, making his thoughts impossible to read since Hermione was no Legilimens.

"No, sir," Hermione admitted finally. "Professor Dumbledore has said time and again that he trusts you completely. If you have earned the unequivocal faith of Albus Dumbledore, then surely a girl like myself ought to be able to trust you."

Professor Snape smirked broadly as if Hermione had said something very humorous. Hermione abruptly wondered if there had been some absurdity in her words that, in her lingering intoxication, she'd missed. She flushed a bit and shifted nervously in her chair.

"Draco has been tasked with a most… unsavory project," Professor Snape pronounced delicately. "As part of my work for the Order of the Phoenix, I am obliged both to report this information to Professor Dumbledore and to maintain appearances of loyalty among the opposing forces. I have agreed to protect and even assist Draco with this difficult assignment, ugly though it is, as part of my work for the Headmaster."

He was speaking in euphemisms. Hermione might still be a bit drunk, but she could tell that Professor Snape was avoiding coming straight out and saying that Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater. But that was clearly what he was saying, wasn't it? Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater. Hermione felt her heart race as her suspicions were confirmed.

"I honestly can say no more to you right now, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said tightly, "and I must insist that you not share any of this with Mr. Weasley or Mr. Potter. You understand?"

Hermione nodded mutely, and then, finding a trace of her voice, croaked, "Yes, sir. I understand. I'm sorry. I just… I wanted you to know that the boys, well… they suspected something after tonight."

Professor Snape sneered again. "Those two have suspected me of being evil incarnate since the day the boats brought them from the Hogwarts Express to be sorted by the Hat. I shall hardly expect a birthday card from them next month."

Hermione chuckled a bit at the thought of that, of Ron Weasley giving a birthday card to the fearsome Professor Snape. Perhaps he'd give him a Christmas cracker, as well. Hermione sighed then, for she'd only decided a few days prior to stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays, and thinking of Christmas crackers made her question her decision.

"What is like around here at Christmas?" she asked suddenly, steering the conversation away from Draco Malfoy. She looked to Professor Snape, who curled his lip back in an expression of thinly veiled distaste.

"Delightfully maudlin," he clicked sarcastically. "Professor McGonagall gives a stocking to each student who stays over the holidays, while Professor Flitwick insists on charming everything into festive oblivion. Hagrid inevitably builds an army of snowmen outside his hut, and last year Madam Hooch enchanted them to play Snowman Quidditch. It was probably more entertaining than it should have been because the entire staff was filled to the brim with brandy prior the match."

Hermione erupted into giggles as Professor Snape spoke, though he maintained a grave air of contempt upon his face. She did not feel so desolate about staying now that there was the prospect of flying snowmen hucking Bludgers at one another.

"Why do you ask?" Professor Snape said finally, once Hermione's laughter quelled. "Aren't you going home to your dentist parents?"

She found it fascinating that Professor Snape remembered so mundane a detail as her Muggle parents' occupations, so Hermione grinned broadly across the desk as she spoke. "No. Not this year, sir. Professor Binns was very impressed with my essay on goblin rebellions. He wants me to conduct a few thorough research projects from now to the summer. Not for extra credit… just, because most students don't even bother staying awake in History of Magic, and Professor Binns said he enjoys reading my essays, sir."

She found herself beaming, quite against her will, and Professor Snape cocked a curious eyebrow at her. "So you shall be spending your Christmas holidays in the library, then?"

With a derisive little laugh at her own expense, Hermione nodded. "I'm afraid so, sir. I haven't enough time during the term to do as much research as I'd like. I'm going to spend the holidays conducting research on Burdock Muldoon. He was the Chief of the Wizards' Council in the fifteenth century; he tried to -"

"To classify all magical creatures as either Beasts or Beings. Yes." Professor Snape nodded emphatically. "That would tie in nicely with your work on the goblin rebellions of the 18th century. What would be your thesis on Muldoon?"

Hermione quirked a little smile at his interest. "I'm not entirely certain yet, sir. I need to research the first attempted meeting of Beings more thoroughly. What is of great interest to me is how Burdock Muldoon was so spiteful after the failure of the congregation that, thereafter, he strictly excluded all non-wizard creatures from the Wizards' Council. Prejudice born of experience, rather than the archetype we usually see in history and literature, which is -"

"Tolerance born of experience." Professor Snape nodded again. "Intriguing. It has potential. You will need to read all of Bathilda Bagshot's chapters on the Wizards' Council, of course, though I'm certain you've read them all before. I'd recommend a book called With My Call I Prophesy Doom. It is a lengthy and mournful tome about augureys, but highly informational since they are infrequently studied but were important participants in Burdock Muldoon's meeting of Beings."

He looked thoughtful for a long moment as he seemed to be flicking through a catalogue of books in his mind, and Hermione stared at him with rapt attention and admiration. Why had she not known that Professor Snape was so knowledgeable? Of course it made perfect sense, for he seemed to know every charm and spell, every potion recipe, by heart, but…

"Then there is The Disappearing Diricawl, which is brief enough that you should be able to skim it for pertinent information. Guarding The Steeds: The Elusive Porlock and His Relationship With Wizardkind. A very old text, perhaps outdated in many ways since horses are no longer critical to society, but certainly relevant for the context of Muldoon's time. I trust you have paid close enough attention over the past six years that you do not require further details on trolls."

Professor Snape smirked again at Hermione, who thought with a blush of embarrassment back to her first year. That was how she'd become friends with Ron and Harry, after all - they'd locked her in the girls' bathroom with a damned mountain troll, convinced that Professor Snape had set it loose on the whole school.

"No, sir," Hermione sighed with a sad little smile, "I think I know plenty about trolls."

Professor Snape pulled a brass pocket-watch from his tailored coat and flicked the cover open, glancing at the face before clamping the watch shut again.

"It's been over a half hour," he announced, "Do you feel yourself again?"

Hermione swallowed heavily and looked about the room. The space was no longer swimming in her vision. She was not dizzy anymore, and her nausea had subsided. With a twinge of guilt, and more than a fair bit of shame, she realized how she had come to be sitting across a desk from Professor Snape in an empty classroom. She glanced down at herself and was abruptly self-conscious in her low-cut gown, and felt her cheeks grow warm. She frowned and flicked her eyes up to see Professor Snape eyeing her with a question in his black eyes.

Hermione remembered thinking while she was drunk that he was handsome. Well, she hadn't been all that wrong, she considered. Tonight, more than usual, Professor Snape looked sharp and sophisticated. Certainly, Hermione had enjoyed the past half hour here with him, snarkily discussing Hogwarts Christmas traditions and rattling through a historical book list. It had been a far better time than that she'd been forced to spend with Cormac McLaggen, that was certain. Professor Snape had been right, after all. The males who were Hermione's age were all boys. Ron was petulant and immature, while Harry was volatile and unpredictable. Cormac McLaggen was… well, he seemed to be thinking with the wrong bloody organ, that was for certain. But the person across the desk from Hermione was a man, not a boy, and he had been the one to yank her aggressor away from her. He'd been the one to give her a potion to set her rights, the one to make certain she stayed hydrated. He'd even known all the books she should use for her History of Magic research.

Oh, come off it, Hermione. He's your bloody professor. More than that, it's Professor Snape. Get a grip on yourself. Go to bed. When you wake up in the morning, you'll see this whole stupid night was a mess, and you'll start over and pretend none of it happened.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione gasped a bit, jarring herself back to reality. Professor Snape had both his eyebrows raised and was waiting for an answer. "Do you suppose you can go back to Gryffindor Tower now?" he asked.

"Oh. Yes. I'm sorry, sir. Yes, I'll be fine. Thank you for all of your help. Truly."

Professor Snape did not respond to Hermione's rambling platitudes, instead wordlessly rising from his chair and straightening his fitted jacket in a way that sent an unwanted shiver down Hermione's spine. He swept around the desk and held out his arm, and Hermione stared at it for a moment before placing her fingers tentatively upon his forearm. She pulled herself up to stand, wondering with a surge of amazement if he was going to truly escort her all the way back to Gryffindor Tower with her on his arm.

But as soon as she rose from the chair, Professor Snape let his arm drop to his side, and the long walk to the Fat Lady was completed in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

Severus Snape was not an enthusiastic participant in festivities, but as he pulled out his heavy chair at the High Table on Christmas Eve, he surveyed the feast and cocked an eyebrow, impressed. The Hogwarts house-elves had truly outdone themselves this time, it seemed, though it was perhaps because there were so few in the castle to prepare for. Besides the staff, there were only five students who had stayed behind - Hermione Granger, the Patil twins (whose parents were in India visiting relatives), and a pair of young Hufflepuffs.

The distinct absence of Slytherins in the castle meant that Severus was blessed with an abundance of free time over the holidays. It also meant he was bored. He had spent the two days after Slughorn's Christmas party organizing lesson plans for the upcoming term, but once he'd completed that, he found himself bereft of duties and had wandered the castle rather morosely, feeling like a spectre haunting the place.

A few times, he had passed Hermione Granger as she made her way to or from the library, always with an armload of books and scrolls and quills, looking distracted and frazzled. He'd nodded curtly at her and she'd flicked him a polite little smile, and then that had been that.

Very soon, it was Christmas Eve, and Severus had dragged himself to the Great Hall knowing full well that, in spite of the paucity of population, the place would be bedecked for the occasion. He was correct, of course. Flitwick had charmed the place so that thousands of free-floating miniature orbs of light drifted about almost eerily. Severus had to admit the beauty of the sight, especially when combined with the illusion of snow gently tumbling from the dark, enchanted ceiling. From somewhere above, or around, a ghostly echo of a choir chanted out ancient carols of the season.

Wreaths had been planted all about, and garlands wended their way around posts and tables. Brick red velvet ribbons curled with gold flecks adorned each staff chair, tied just so, and Severus curled his lip up at the fussiness of that. But the food smelled appealing, and he looked forward to tucking in.

Before he could, Dumbledore pushed his mighty Headmaster's chair backward, its legs scraping upon the aged floor, and rose. The staff turned to him, merry little grins upon all their faces, as did the few students at the tables below. Dumbledore raised his brass goblet to the little assembled group and cleared his throat. Severus prepared for a long speech, but all Dumbledore said was,

"My friends, though few you may be in number, you are all I require to be most merry this night. Happy Christmas Eve to all of you."

He raised his goblet a bit higher, using his unmarred left hand, and then sipped. The small group around him echoed his motions, mumbling, "Happy Christmas, Headmaster!"

Then there was food at last, and Severus enjoyed his mince pie, brussels sprouts, roast potatoes, chipolatas in bacon, and Dundee cake. It all felt appropriately traditional for a night such as this, even if Severus put little personal stock in Christmas.

Around him, the staff members were talking happily with one another. Hagrid and Flitwick were discussing the charming of reindeer to fly, as per several global Christmas traditions. Minerva McGonagall and Septima Vector were talking over the results of their students' final exams from the week prior, lamenting the poor results. Other conversations were punctuated with little exclamations, scraping of cutlery, and laughter.

Even the five students below seemed happy enough. They'd all gathered at one table, with the Patil twins across from one another and Hermione Granger beside Parvati. The two young Hufflepuffs were nodding in admiration at her as she seemed to be explaining something patiently to them, and the twin sisters beside her were engaged in a conversation of their own.

Everything was perfectly merry, it seemed, until Severus' left forearm seared with a sudden heat.

He hissed and dropped the fork and knife he was holding, sending them clattering noisily to his plate, and struggled not to cry out in agony at the abrupt sheen of pain. Swallowing heavily, Severus reached for his cup, gulping down scalding tea and ignoring the stares of the staff around him.

He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to gather himself. He would simply make an excuse and leave, calmly.

 _Of all the nights to be summoned… truly. Christmas Eve?_

Severus sighed and cracked open his eyes. His arm was still on fire, but the rest of the Great Hall seemed oblivious to the fact. They'd all moved beyond his obnoxious outburst. Severus flicked his eyes up and down the High Table and saw that the entire staff seemed to have returned to their conversations. Then he looked down to the students.

Parvati and Padma Patil were hovering over a copy of the _Witch Weekly_ , speaking quickly to one another. One of the young Hufflepuffs was saying something very animatedly to Hermione Granger, gesticulating wildly as he spoke, but she was paying him no attention whatsoever. She was staring straight at Severus.

Her pale brown eyes were wide with alarm, and she gnawed anxiously upon her bottom lip. Her slender fingertips gripped the edge of the table so tightly that Severus could see how her knuckles had gone white. Severus sighed heavily and tried to look away from her, but found that he could not.

She knew; she knew exactly what had happened, and for some odd reason Severus found it comforting. As his arm screamed at him to answer the summons, Severus' right fingertips moved to brush gently over the buttons on his left sleeve. It was the smallest of motions, but he knew she saw it. His eyes stayed on hers, and then Hermione flicked her head into a tiny little nod.

Severus heaved himself up from his chair, struggling to move slowly and in a controlled fashion. He mumbled an hastily-concocted explanation to his colleagues: he was making a potion for St. Mungo's that took days to brew, which was now in need of a few more ingredients and some vigorous stirring. He would see them all in the morning for Christmas breakfast, he promised, and he bid them a cursory good evening. Only Dumbledore's pale eyes flashed with knowing as Severus stalked from the Great Hall. And, of course, he knew that Hermione Granger was still paying no attention to the poor little Hufflepuff boy.

* * *

There was no snow in Wiltshire, but as Severus made his way into Malfoy Manor, a chill ran through his veins nonetheless. It seemed odd to receive a summons on Christmas Eve. It was either a deliberate show of absolute authority by the Dark Lord, or something had transpired to necessitate a hasty meeting. Either way, Severus was rather overcome with a sensation of dread.

When Severus marched into Lucius Malfoy's ornate dining room, he beheld a grisly juxtaposition. There was a glorious Christmas tree, enchanted with twinkling lights and hovering, delicate ornaments. Silver beads and ribbons were strung through green garlands all about the enormous fireplace. The place was all done up for Christmas.

But in the middle of the rug there was a large crumpled swelling, one that looked awfully human in shape and was not moving. The lump had long auburn hair, kinky curls that obscured the face. Lifeless-looking hands were flung awkwardly out from under a dark velvet robe. Severus felt bile rise to his throat as he silently took a place around the perimeter of the room, glancing up to see who was in attendance.

There was Lucius and Narcissa, of course, and beside them stood a very nauseated-looking Draco. Bellatrix Lestrange was beside Draco, positively bouncing on the balls of her feet at the sight of the motionless heap on the rug. There was Yaxley, and Thorfinn Rowle, and a few of the other usuals. Severus repressed a sigh as he looked again at Draco. The boy's pale eyes were trained on the auburn-headed woman on the rug, and Severus honestly thought the boy might vomit on his shoes.

The room was silent for a long moment, aside from Bellatrix's hyperactive bouncing and panting, until the heavy double doors were flung open and Lord Voldemort came striding smoothly into the room, his knobbly wand held above him at an elegant angle.

" _Rennervate._ "

A flash of red light burst forth from Voldemort's wand and streamed at the lumpy form on the rug. Bellatrix Lestrange squealed softly in glee as the figure groaned in agony and moved groggily to push herself to her knees. Severus felt a cold rush of nausea, an odd mix of relief and fear that the woman was alive.

She knelt and looked sleepily around at the congregation of Death Eaters. Severus felt his heart sink as recognition washed over him. He glanced away, but then the young woman spoke.

"P-Professor Snape?"

Severus forced his cold gaze to her and watched as the young woman thrust her mussed copper ringlets out of her face. Her bright blue eyes shone with tears as she pleaded silently with him for mercy. He knew her well, all right. Her name was Rhona Fowlis, and she had been a Ravenclaw perhaps ten years earlier. She had been a Muggle-born student. Severus swallowed heavily. This night would not end well for Rhona, he knew, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Please, Professor Snape…" she whispered, but Severus stared down at his dragon hide boots.

"My friends," Lord Voldemort said, his voice a quiet hiss as he glided into the center of the room, "I have brought you a Christmas present."

"Happy Christmas, My Lord!" Across the room, Bellatrix clapped her hands with a macabre eagerness and giggled softly, a laughter that was quietly echoed by all those present… except for Severus.

"Happy Christmas, Bellatrix." Severus tipped his chin up to see the Dark Lord extending his skeletal index finger to brush the maniacal witch's gaunt cheek, and she shivered with delight at his touch. Severus felt ill, turning his eyes back to the former student kneeling upon the rug. Silent tears wormed their way down her pale cheeks. Lord Voldemort turned to the young woman and barked, "Tell us your name."

"M-my name is Rhona Fowlis." She shut her eyes and wept silently.

"No." Voldemort was hovering above her in a flash. When he spoke again, his words were directed more at his minions than at his prisoner. "This is MB-1. Not Rhona Fowlis. MB-1. Mudblood number one. In our new world, friends, creatures like this one will have no need of names, only of alphanumerical designations. So, MB-1."

He turned down to her and thrust his bony bare foot against her back, shoving Rhona down so that she was prostrate on the rug. Rhona whimpered softly and grasped aimlessly at the rug. Voldemort continued,

"I sincerely appreciate your willingness to demonstrate the policies to be implemented by my Ministry of Magic. Thank you kindly for lending me your arm."

He sneered and flicked his wand, and Rhona yelped as her arm moved of its own accord, pulling her back upright like a puppet. The sleeve of her robe fell back and blood began to flow freely from her forearm as Voldemort sketched his wand through the air, eliciting shrieks of pain and terror from the Ravenclaw.

" _Turgeo._ " The dripping blood disappeared so that the gathered Death Eaters could behold Voldemort's work upon Rhona's arm. A crudely scripted "MB-1" had been carved into her flesh, and with another flick of Voldemort's wand, Rhona's arm drooped and she clutched it to her chest. Voldemort turned to his followers. "Following expulsions and sackings, then wand confiscations, there will be brandings like these. I will teach you all the proper technique, which is of my own design and can not be undone by any counter-curse. These brands will, of course, make the identification of Mudbloods far simpler for the purposes of enslavement and, eventually, culling."

Severus felt dizzy as acid boiled up into his throat, and he tried not to sway on his feet. He wanted nothing more than to whisk poor Rhona Fowlis out of Malfoy Manor, but his feet were glued to the dining room floor. His mind swirled with a most unwelcome vision: Hermione Granger, her forearm branded like a piece of livestock. Severus gulped and shoved the thought from his mind. The idea of _any_ Muggle-born receiving such treatment was repulsive.

"Another identification technique…" Voldemort began casually, and then hesitated. He turned to Bellatrix Lestrange. "Bella, dear, why don't you show them?"

A glittery expression of delight crossed Bellatrix' jet eyes and her face looked positively orgasmic as she whispered, "With pleasure, My Lord."

She pointed her wand at Rhona and shuddered with glee as she shut her eyes. " _Sanguis denigrare!_ "

A black velvety thread leaked from the tip of Bellatrix's wand and shot toward Rhona, disappearing when it hit her chest. Rhona shivered and stared at Bellatrix in terror for a long moment, waiting for the spell to take effect. Bellatrix leered and chuckled, lowering her wand, and then Rhona started to moan in pain.

Severus watched in horror as Rhona's hands grasped first at her heart, pounding a bit upon her own chest in desperation. Then, as the curse spread, her fingers began to dig into her own arms, into her own thighs and shoulders and neck. Her fingernails raked down her cheeks as she let out a wordless, pleading sob, and eventually she collapsed back onto the floor in a heaving pile of copper curls.

"Sit up, you filthy Mudbood!" Bellatrix shrieked. " _Imperio!_ "

Bellatrix's wand pulled Rhona back up, and then the effects of the blood-blackening curse were fully evident. Severus could see every vein and artery outlined upon Rhona's face, neck, and hands in grotesque clarity. The veins threaded around her pale skin like inky lines of shame. For some reason, a horrible image flashed in Severus' mind of Hermione Granger with the same curse cast upon her, and a fresh feeling of queasiness set in.

"You see, my friends… Mudbloods are a plague among us, but they are experts in hiding. They must be flushed out like the disease they are, shown for their villainy. And when we see them plainly…" he aimed his wand in a sweeping motion toward Rhona, "it makes it that much easier to eliminate them. _Avada Kedavra!"_

Before the second syllable of the spell was out of the Dark Lord's mouth, Severus had shut his eyes. He had known it was coming, and he did not need to see the bright flash of green light, nor the way he knew Rhona Fowlis would silently slump in death. It was, perhaps, the most merciful way to end this night for her.

Severus still had his eyes clenched shut when he heard Voldemort's ethereal voice rumble, "You are all dismissed… Happy Christmas."

* * *

 _Nothing is more significant to centaur astronomy than brightness of the celestial bodies. Rather than mapping pictures in the night sky, centaurs gauge the relative brightness of visible stars and planets and compare them. This measure of brightness as seen by an Earth-dwelling observer is called_ _**apparent magnitude**_ _._

 _For hundreds of years, centaur astronomers measured and compared the apparent magnitudes of myriad celestial bodies and determined their size, age, and distance from the Earth and one another. These factors, the centaurs asserted, were key to discerning the past, present, and future. The centaur astronomers developed and utilized logarathmic equations to determine a conclusive formula for prophesy._

 _The relative distances and sizes of stars is a complicated derivation of apparent magnitude and is impossible for Muggle mathematicians. For instance, the star Betelgeuse is far larger and has more objective luminosity than the star Sirius. Yet, to the naked eye, Sirius appears far brighter because it is much closer to Earth. To Muggle mathematicians, the apparent magnitude of Betelgeuse and Sirius are irrelevant; only the objective figures of measurement matter._

 _But to centaur astronomers, the subjective observation is far more important. Betelgeuse burns hotter, larger, bigger. But because Betelgeuse is so much further away than Sirius, the smaller star is more visible and thus imparts a larger astrological influence upon the Earth and its inhabitants._

 _Oftentimes, the centaurs determined, it is neither size nor strength that most strongly determines power. It is proximity._

 _\- The Stars From the Trees: Astronomical Techniques of the Centaurs_ _. Page 363._

* * *

Hermione drew her heavy woolen coat more tightly around herself and shivered. She'd come up to the Astronomy Tower with the notion that, if intercepted by a staff member, she could claim she needed to conduct observations for her academic research. It would sound highly implausible, even for Hermione Granger, to be conducting school work late on Christmas Eve night. But it was the only excuse Hermione had for coming up here to watch the front doors of the castle.

The moment Professor Snape had slipped out of the Great Hall, Hermione had been filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. Undoubtedly, he had been summoned by Voldemort. His Dark Mark must have burned - Hermione knew that all Death Eaters had the Mark upon their left forearm, and that was where Professor Snape had stealthily coursed his fingertips while his black eyes met hers. She had heard him mumble some story about a potion for St. Mungo's, had seen the tremble in his slender fingers as he brushed past the table of students on his way out of the Hall.

 _On Christmas Eve, of all nights?_ Hermione had thought with a stab of fear. The rest of the feast had tasted sour in her mouth, and she'd excused herself to her dormitory to sit for a while upon her bed in silence before grabbing her heavy coat, hat, mittens, and scarf. She bundled as she walked, making her way up the many stairs to the Astronomy Tower. She would stand sentinel for him, for the spy she knew had a beating heart beneath his iron skin.

Now, as Hermione leaned against the edge of the parapet and gazed down to the snowy ground, she considered how often Severus Snape had invaded her consciousness over the past four days.

After the night of Professor Slughorn's party, everyone else had gone home for the holidays, leaving the castle a quiet shell. Only a few souls rattled about the halls - the staff and a smattering of students. Two night ago, Hermione had fallen asleep in the library, her head slumping down onto the pages of a dreadfully dull tome on pixies. Hermione could have sworn she heard her name - _Miss Granger -_ snap forth in his voice. She had startled awake; her candle had burned out and the library was eerily dark and cold. But she was alone.

Then, on the afternoon of the twenty-third, Hermione had gone wandering about the grounds after spending the entire morning writing. She nursed her aching wrist, rubbing the tendons firmly and chewing her lip as she made her way down a cloister. Then she had heard the characteristic _click, click, click_ that the heels of his boots always made when he stalked the corridors. She'd known that sound for six years, so when she looked up and saw Professor Snape approaching her, she had not been surprised by the idea of him.

But the sight of him… he looked… _different_. Or perhaps it was just that Hermione had never truly paid attention to Professor Snape before. In any case, she abruptly noticed things that she never had - the way his white shirt peeked out from above his perfectly tied cravat. The tightness and length of his sleeves; the tiny black buttons that ran from his wrists to his elbows. The way his black frock coat hit right at his knees and how his slender (but not overly thin) legs strode sheathed in close-fitting trousers.

Her thoughts had started racing then as her eyes trailed up to his face… how had she gone six years without noticing the fact that Severus Snape looked very much as though he'd come straight off a Roman coin? Students had always mocked him for being ugly, but, come to think of it… he looked… _dignified._ He looked like he'd been cut from granite, rough-hewn in some places and smooth in others. His nose was not so much a beak as the grounding centerpiece of a perpetually serious face. His eyes were narrow and his brows eternally furrowed in skepticism, but the near-black irises that gazed out were sharp as a sword and glinted like jewels. As he got closer, Hermione realized that the hair they'd called 'greasy' all these years was simply shiny from root to tip. The raven locks framed Snape's face so well that Hermione realized he would look foolish with short hair, and that this was the only logical way for him to wear it. _No matter_ , she thought. It looked very nice. Distantly, she wondered what it felt like when he coursed his aggravated fingers through it to shove it out of his face.

Hermione thought back to that moment in the cloister, when she'd _noticed_ his details for the first time, and felt her cheeks flush hot even in the frigid air atop the Astronomy Tower. The wind whipped her cheeks and cooled them back down, and Hermione willed herself to take a steadying breath. She clapped her mitten-sheathed hands together and blew hot air into the wool, casting her eyes down to the clock tower as she wondered the time.

Squinting in the darkness, Hermione struggled to see the hands of the great clock. Just then, beyond the clock tower, she saw a small black whorl appear upon the untouched snow. There was a little accompanying _crack_ that Hermione would not have heard if she hadn't been watching, for Professor Snape was very far away when he appeared beyond the gates.

Hermione felt as though her stomach had flipped upside-down, and her heart galloped within her chest. She wondered with a pang of concern if Professor Snape had been hurt tonight, or if someone else had, and she found herself being dragged away from the edge of the parapet by an unseen force.

 _I need to speak with him_ , Hermione thought anxiously, knowing full well that it was an idiotic notion. He would have no desire to see her right now, she knew. And, anyway, there was no good reason to make his Christmas Eve any worse than it had probably been. But there she was, dashing down the winding staircase of the Astronomy Tower, knowing that he was treading through the snow up the gates at that very moment.

Down, down, down she ran, her breath burning her lungs as she panted. Her left mitten coursed along the stone wall for support as her feet trotted down the stairs, and her right hand clutched her wand. As Hermione burst forth into the Long Gallery, she realized the central building was far too open, and she cast a quick Disillusionment Charm upon herself. It was as hastily cast as the last time she'd done it, so Hermione thought she was probably a shimmering, translucent shadow, audibly gasping for air, as she darted through the Viaduct Entrance and down the Potions Staircase. Down she ran, her feet pattering upon one step after the other in a seemingly endless swirl.

She burst out of the staircase and into the Dungeon Corridor so forcefully that she nearly crashed into the immense grandfather clock at the head of the hallway. Skirting the mahogany behemoth, Hermione turned her head to see a cloaked figure striding away from her.

She trotted toward him, and he whirled around his shoulder, whipping his wand out and thrusting it toward Hermione. She felt the smack of magic as a nonverbal spell from his wand crashed into her, and she knew her Disillusionment had been lifted. She kept jogging toward him. She must have appeared out of thin air to him, but there was no discernible expression upon his face as she neared. Only when Hermione staggered to a halt before him did she notice the look of worry in his eyes.

"It is most unwise to sneak up upon a wizard in the middle of the night, Miss Granger. Even on Christmas Eve. What are you doing in the dungeons?"

Hermione knew he could tell she'd been outside. She still wore her rose-colored knit hat, pulled low over her curls, and her gray peacoat was wrapped tightly around her body. She pulled off her mittens and coughed as she struggled to catch her breath. Hermione swore at herself in her head. She'd run from the highest point of the castle to the lowest in order to catch him, and here she stood before him, wheezing like a fool.

Professor Snape snatched his brass pocket-watch from his frock coat pocket and pointed his wand at it. Hermione ogled in fascination as the pocket-watch was Transfigured into a simple brass chalice, into which Snape cast an _aguamenti_ until it was filled with water.

"Here." He thrust the chalice at Hermione, scowling fiercely down at her. Hermione nodded her thanks and drank the water down in three big gulps, her heart slowing as the burn in her lungs began to subside. She looked back up at Professor Snape, who was eyeing her with great suspicion. He asked again, "Why are you in the dungeons at this hour, Miss Granger?"

Hermione sighed. She didn't have a very good answer ready for that incredibly obvious inquiry. "I… I knew you'd left," she admitted, staring into the glinting brass chalice he'd made her, "and I was worried."

Professor Snape snorted and scoffed, "Your concern is touching, Miss Granger. As you can see, I am quite unharmed. Back to bed with you."

"Please." Hermione shook her head, still staring into the empty cup. She groped at it nervously, her fingertips pressing hard into the metal, trying to sculpt it as if it were clay. "Please, will you sit and talk with me for a moment?"

He hesitated above her. In the beat of silence, Hermione perceived that she was near enough to smell him. She probably had been close enough before, but had never breathed in with the intention of sensing him. She did so now, with a single tremulous breath. The scents of leather and parchment mingled with the aroma of herbs and oils from brewing potions. There was a thick, masculine undertone there that Hermione could not readily identify, but it made her dizzy as she took it in. She felt very warm all of a sudden, and stared hard into the brass cup as if she were reading tea leaves for Trelawney.

Then Professor Snape was snapping at her again, having apparently taken a moment to put himself to rights and regain his flinty tone. Hermione finally raised her gaze to meet his. The black eyes that stared at her looked wary, betraying the harsh snap of his words.

"What would you care to talk about?"

Hermione shrugged and shook her head. "Anything," she whispered.

He rolled his eyes at her and sighed loudly, as if to make it very obvious that she was inconveniencing him with her presence. He turned his back and strode purposefully to an unmarked wooden door in the corridor. Hermione felt her lips curl up in a tiny self-satisfied smile as he silently unwarded his own office and let them in.

A moment later, the vaulted space was cast in the dull glow of a few wall torches, and Hermione found herself glancing around the office, marveling as always at the sheer volume of potions supplies kept in here by Professor Snape. She sank into the chair across from his, setting her Transfigured brass chalice upon his desk.

"Here's your pocket-watch back," she told him with a little smile. "It makes a very nice water goblet. Thank you." Then, immediately, she realized that she would never in a million years speak like that to him in the daylight, in front of other students. Where was the 'sir'? Where was the frightened deference, the stilted formality, the unmasked hostility?

And why did he seem completely unfazed by it all, simply tapping the chalice with his wand and watching as it morphed back into his round brass pocket-watch? Professor Snape clicked the watch shut and shoved it back into his frock coat, folding his hands together upon the desk and breathing deeply as if lost in thought.

Hermione stared at his hands for a moment, taking in the way his skin looked battered and worn from so many years of handling volatile and corrosive ingredients, the way his slender fingers laced together gracefully and yet looked strong as a vise.

"Have you any family abroad, Miss Granger?"

Hermione startled and pulled her eyes away from Professor Snape's hands, raising them instead to his piercing obsidian eyes. They weren't any less distracting, and she could not remember his question. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Is there anyone you could… stay with? Anywhere else?" He did not sound quite as stern as he normally did, and Hermione felt her eyebrows crumple. She gazed into his black eyes for a long minute, willing them to show her what was beneath them. Finally, she spoke, her question barely audible in the stillness of the office.

"Why would I need to leave Britain, sir?"

She held his gaze, wordlessly demanding the truth of him. He knew something that she did not; he'd found something out whilst meeting with the Death Eaters, and Hermione wanted to know what it was. He looked away first, a shaking breath seeping through his thin lips as he shut his eyes and shook his head.

"You need to have somewhere to go if -"

"And what about my friends? What about Harry, and Ginny, and Ron?" She was pushing him, she knew, and he might snap like a wounded animal, but he looked back at her with a cold, dark stare and said calmly,

"The Weasley family is Pureblood, so they will be fine, presumably."

"I see." Hermione felt a pang of dread as she realized that all the prejudice she'd witnessed against Muggle-borns might actually turn into something dangerous. "What, exactly, do they want to do to us?"

Professor Snape did not answer her, instead pulling one of his hands from the desk and bringing it up to rub his jaw as if it was sore. He dug his teeth into his lip and stared at a scroll upon his desk, and Hermione waited patiently. Finally, he spoke in a tight, angry voice.

"She was a 'Christmas Present.' A gift for all the depraved sociopaths who stood around her and watched her be tortured and then killed. Not one of them so much as twitched a finger to intervene. Least of all me."

Hermione felt suddenly like she was going to be sick. Part of her wanted to know who 'she' was, the person who had apparently been murdered tonight, but a bigger part of her did not think could demand Snape speak her name. She swallowed hard, forcing down her disgust and grief, and she whispered, "But, of course you couldn't have done anything. It would have given you away."

He slapped the desk with his right hand then, growling in frustration and startling Hermione. Her heart raced with alarm as he leaned forward over the desk and snarled in a low voice, "Yes, Miss Granger, it would have given me away. And it is vitally important that the Dark Lord be as convinced of my loyalty as Dumbledore is." He sat back upright and hissed through his teeth, sounding outraged. "You can not possibly conceive of the things I have witnessed on behalf of our dear Headmaster. Innumerable crimes, and I have been made to be complicit in every one of them."

His breath shuddered through his nostrils as he finished speaking, and Hermione thought she ought to look away from him, for he seemed to be losing control of himself and would not want anyone to see him in this state. She pulled her eyes from his and looked back at his hand, balled tightly into a fist upon the desk.

Hermione swallowed thickly and reached her trembling fingers out. He was like a magnet, and though she knew it was a very foolish thing to do, she found herself gently placing her soft little hand atop his larger, rough one. She squeezed his fist gently, staring at the both of their hands with mesmerized eyes.

She felt very sorry for him that he had been made to see such horrors in the course of his spying work, but she knew full well that Severus Snape was not the type of man who would well receive sentiments of pity. For some reason, it occurred to Hermione's brain that a modicum of positive physical touch might provide far more comfort than words. So she said nothing and silently squeezed his hand again.

"What are you doing, Miss Granger?"

Any other time that Professor Snape asked her that question, Hermione would have expected it to be barked at her in a corridor as she broke a school rule, or snarled as she botched a spell or a potion. But he did not sound mean. There was a hint of strain in the question, a note of quiet confusion, and so Hermione flicked her eyes away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, knowing that she had done a stupid thing she couldn't take back. Her ears rang with humiliation, and she slowly pulled her hand off of his.

Before she could take her hand back, he had snatched it roughly out of the air, grasping it firmly in his calloused palm. Hermione gasped and looked at him with alarm, looking for the outrage in his eyes that she fully expected.

But he was staring at her with a fiery heat that she had never seen from his normally cold eyes. His lips were parted as if he were just as surprised by his actions as she was, and he flicked his tongue out over his bottom lip as he looked to be contemplating what on Earth he was supposed to do next.

Hermione knew she must look a complete idiot. She could feel her eyes, round as saucers, staring holes into him, could hear the way her breath trembled with a mixture of fear and surprise as he slowly pulled her hand a few inches across the desk toward him.

It was a heady feeling, having him holding onto her tightly, his rough thumb working little firm circles against her palm while his fingers wrapped themselves around her wrist. Hermione shut her eyes against the sensation, willing away the flush that she knew had come to her cheeks. It was very strange that Professor Snape was touching her right now, a part of her brain told her loudly. But then a smaller, more insistent part of her mind called out that it was also very pleasant.

She wanted to melt into his hand as she focused on how _good_ it felt to have the abrasive friction between his calloused thumb and her smooth palm. There was a warm, aching feeling somewhere in the bottom of her abdomen that she would have never expected to feel in this office, and suddenly Hermione's eyes flew open and she gasped softly.

She pulled away from him as if she'd been burned, thinking quickly that it was almost certainly against all sorts of school policies for her to become aroused holding Severus Snape's hand. Beyond that, she scolded herself, it was ridiculous… and _wrong_!

"I…" Hermione flew to her feet, shoving the chair back as she did. Professor Snape did not look at all in control of himself. She needed him to be his biting, sardonic, intimidating self. Instead, she looked down and saw him grinding his teeth with long, shaking breaths coming from between his thin, parted lips. His black eyes were cold, but were searching Hermione's for something.

"It's getting very late, Professor." Hermione reached for her mittens and pulled them back on, which made no sense at all since she was not going back outside. "I don't think I should stay very much longer…"

"No." His voice was a whisper, but it bore some of the sharpness she was used to hearing from him. He lowered his eyes from her and stared at his hand as if it were a murder weapon. "No, probably not."

Hermione pulled her wand through the air in front of herself, casting a more thorough Disillusionment charm so that she could sneak her way back to Gryffindor Tower undetected. As she disappeared into thin air before him, Professor Snape rose from his chair slowly. His onyx eyes stared ahead as she backed away toward the door. He was looking through her, so she knew she was invisible this time, but he must have been able to hear her footfalls.

She quietly pulled open the door, pausing over the threshold. "Goodnight, then, sir. Happy Christmas."

Professor Snape nodded curtly toward the doorway, his eyes roving over the space where Hermione had camouflaged herself. "Goodnight, Miss Granger," he murmured.

* * *

New Year's Eve that year proved to be yet another occasion for the Dark Lord to indulge his bloodlust. Severus had been summoned as the sun set on the last day of the year, and he had felt weary and angry as he'd raced out to the Apparition point.

Another gift, the Dark Lord had said. An elderly Muggle-born wizard, someone Severus had never met. He seemed like he could be someone's grandfather, and he probably was. Bellatrix had been allowed to practice her hideous blood-blackening curse on the man, after which he was branded and administered the Cruciatus Curse for a solid hour before being hauled, unconscious, to the cells below Malfoy Manor. This one would serve as an example, the Dark Lord had said. A prototype.

Severus' hand shook like a leaf as he poured himself a generous serving of Blishen's Firewhisky. Ignoring his normal rule about pacing his drinking, he brought the tumbler to his lips and swallowed deeply, coughing and spluttering as the searing heat of the liquor burned its way down his esophagus.

' _Please, just kill me.' The old Muggle-born wizard trembled fiercely after the first round of the Cruciatus Curse. His voice was hoarse from screaming in agony. 'Please don't do that again. Just kill me. I'm an old man, and I'll die soon enough anyway...'_

 _Voldemort had glided over to the ancient wizard, lowering his snakelike face until he was inches away. 'You will die in whatever manner pleases me, Mudblood, whenever I decide you are finished. Crucio."_

Severus stared down at the half-full whisky tumbler and decided he should probably not be drinking tonight.

" _Evanesco."_

He murmured the incantation with a sweep of his hand, and the whisky vanished into non-being. Severus felt a little clench of tightness in his stomach from the effort of such complicated wandless magic. He turned around and looked down at his duvet, where his wand sat waiting for him.

Black-varnished birch wood, dragon heartstring core, fifteen inches in length, rigid. A simple, unadorned, slightly tapered shaft with a blunt end. A cylinder of symbols and patterns around the bottom, lending the wand a mysterious and serious appearance. It suited Severus perfectly, and he'd smirked contentedly when it had chosen him at age eleven.

But he didn't always need it. As a sixth-year at Hogwarts, Severus had begun privately practicing the art of focusing and amplifying his intentions and magic. First he used verbal incantations, holding out his hand and fixing a hard glare at the object of his spells. Eventually he was summoning objects silently and without a wand. The sensation of power was almost erotic the first time Severus cast a wandless curse as a young Death Eater.

 _She could be powerful, too_ , Severus thought suddenly, standing over his bed and looking down at the black birch wand. _Even if they took her wand, made her a slave, branded her and told her she wasn't a real witch. Hermione Granger could be powerful just by pointing her arm at them and muttering a few words._

Severus felt his eyebrows crumple, confused by his own train of thought. He swallowed thickly and turned to his cold, dark fireplace. He'd not lit a fire after storming back here after the disturbing meeting, but now he brought up his right hand and stared hard at the smoke-stained bricks.

" _Incendio_ ," he whispered, and instantly the dark fireplace erupted with light and heat as flames burst into being. Severus felt the familiar twist in his abdomen, almost pleasant now, from performing the wandless magic. He gulped and paced anxiously in front of the fire.

 _I could teach her_ , he thought, his mind suddenly racing and insistent. _She is very intelligent, filled with raw magic. If I could only show her how to focus it, she could protect herself if Potter fails… if I fail…_

He whirled around to face his bed curtains and held up his arm. " _Colovaria_." The curtains' dark green shade washed out and gave way to a purple so deep it looked black in the night.

Severus felt a buzzing, pulsating sensation in his head as his body began to truly register the effects of performing wandless incantations. It was taxing, and he felt himself growing tired. But, oddly, a surge of energy flushed through his veins and overtook his fatigue.

It felt very good to be able to do this, to not need his wand. Not everyone could do what he was doing. Most witches and wizards were exhausted after a major wandless spell, if they could cast one at all. But Severus was getting drunk on the sense that he was powerful.

 _I could teach her how to concentrate her abilities. They would never be able to keep her hostage long enough to make her a martyr._

Severus snarled in frustration at the dreadful thought of that, of Hermione Granger murdered for her 'blood status.' Then he grew irritated with himself for caring about her in particular. What made her any different from any of the other Muggle-borns? There were dozens of them here at Hogwarts. Why was she the only one who made him this angry? When, precisely, had the welfare of Hermione Granger become his obligation?

" _Reducto_!" Severus twisted fiercely around his shoulder, shoving his hand in the direction of the sconce upon his bedroom wall. It shattered as his curse hurtled through the air, a pale blue stream of light. The glass lamp exploded into a fine mist of tiny shards that rained down to the floor. For one glorious moment, the sight of the destruction made Severus dizzy with satisfaction. He stood beside his bed, breathing heavily through his parted mouth, his black eyes glittering.

Then the buzzing quieted, and the pulsing calmed, and Severus felt as though he had regained his mind. He glanced down to his duvet and brushed his slender fingertips over his wand.

 _I will teach her… it may be the only way she can keep herself alive. I will show her that she is powerful._

Severus curled his fingers around the handle of the wand, its ridges and bumps a familiar comfort in his palm. He held the wand up and saw it trembling fiercely in his hand. He pointed its tip slowly toward his cabinet of medicinal potions and whispered,

" _Accio_ Dreamless Sleep."

* * *

Hermione sighed as she proceeded to the bookshelves for what felt like the millionth time. She'd spent all morning working on her assignment for Professor Binns, even though it was New Year's Day. Hermione intended to work for two more hours before granting herself a brisk walk about the grounds. She honestly could not wait until the recommencement of term - not only because she missed her friends and was growing lonely and bored, but because she needed intellectual variation. She was starting to feel like a veritable Magical Historian, and Hermione felt an odd pining for potions-making and Transfiguration lessons.

She brushed her fingertips over the spines of the books about phoenixes upon the shelves, trying to find _Born And Died And Born Once More_. The sound of a low, rumbling voice to her left jolted her so thoroughly that she squeaked in alarm.

"Looking for something in particular, Miss Granger?"

"Professor Snape!"

He looked tired, Hermione thought when she saw him, remembering that he had been absent from dinner the night before. Not again, she thought with a frown.

She had not spoken a single word to Professor Snape in the week since their strange encounter on Christmas Eve. Even now, she would not have been able to say what exactly it was that possessed her to chase him down to the dungeons, to put her hand on top of his. But, then, when he'd grabbed her hand out of the air as she pulled away…

The past week had been torture at night in the dormitory. During the day, Hermione managed to keep her mind off of him, focusing on the words in the dozens of books she consumed. He seemed to be actively avoiding her, and so she rarely saw him about the castle. But at night, Hermione's mind had nowhere else to go but to the dungeons.

She remembered the look of self-loathing confusion on his face as he stared down at his own hand. When she closed her eyes at night, Hermione saw his. Black and cold and piercing, except for that one gaze when he'd looked hungry and warm.

Odd feelings had plagued her body over the last week as she replayed the incident over and over in her mind. Every single time she thought back to the feel of his thumb working circles on her palm, Hermione flushed and tingled.

On New Year's Eve, she had gone to bed early while Parvati left to go find Padma and wait for midnight. Hermione had laid upon her back and stroked her own palm. Her thumb was small and smooth, but his had been rough and strong. It was not the same, but she could pretend.

She'd shut her eyes and seen his face: stony and determined as he clutched her hand. Hermione had felt an odd rush of excitement between her legs, a feeling of heat and pressure that gradually grew into an aching that demanded attention.

She had reluctantly slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of her flannel pajama pants and felt that she was slick there. The instant her fingertips made contact with the silky folds, Hermione had gasped and been suddenly very thankful that Parvati was out. She had made little circles with two of her fingers, rubbing over her clitoris and around her entrance before dipping into the wet heat and curling inside of herself.

She had arched her back against the bed, bucked her hips against her hand, as she searched for something vague and shapeless and very, very close. She'd stifled a moan as she saw his face in her mind, not bothering to scold herself for the indecency of that. She was down in the dungeons with him, in her mind, surrounded by his phials and cauldrons and shivering, warmed only by his hands.

Then she'd imagined what his rougher fingers would feel like in place of her own, and that thought had done her in. Hermione had tumbled over an unseen precipice and fallen into a wave of fulfillment as her walls clenched erratically around her drenched fingers. She wanted to cry out to him, but in her mind there was no need. She could feel him drawing her against his chest as she came.

But then her ears had stopped ringing, and the euphoric explosion had fizzled, and Hermione lay alone in a dark dormitory. She had pulled her fingers from herself, feeling dirty and depraved, and had made her way to the Prefects' Bathroom to make herself clean again.

So, to see Professor Snape standing only a few feet away from her, staring at her in the library, Hermione was unnerved and caught off-balance. She chewed roughly upon her bottom lip and turned back to the bookshelf.

"I'm… I'm trying to find a book called _Born And Died And Born Once More_. I need another source on the history of the use of phoenix materials by wizards. I believe it will add another angle to my assertions about wizard exploitation of Beings and Beasts."

"Hmm."

Hermione wasn't sure what she had expected Professor Snape to say. Maybe a little part of her expected - and wanted - him to give her a lecture on the various uses of phoenix tears in Potions-making. Maybe she wanted to hear him talk about phoenix feathers, or ashes, or even their singing. She was certain that Snape knew all about these things, but he gave no indication of that. He merely crossed his arms over his chest and gave her that dismissive little 'Hmm' that told Hermione he wasn't here to discuss phoenixes.

Hermione paused with her hand upon the spine of an obscure Newt Scamander tome and turned to face him.

"Are you here for a book as well, sir?"

He rolled his eyes a bit and pinched his lips in irritation, and Hermione abruptly felt more affected by his disapproval than usual.

"No, I am not here for a book," Snape drawled. "I believe, Miss Granger, that you have full mastery of the fundamental nonverbal spells we have been practicing in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows and frowned. So she was ahead of the curriculum. What was significant about that? Had Professor Snape been paying attention at all for the past six years of Hermione's education?

"Obviously," Professor Snape continued, "I do not wish for this entire year to be a waste for you in my class. A witch who can master nonverbals so quickly may have the potential to learn wandless magic." He paused and gazed at the bookshelves as if debating with himself what to say next. "I happen to be more proficient in casting wandless spells than any other instructor here besides Professor Dumbledore, so it would probably make sense for your lessons to be conducted with me."

Hermione cocked her head in confusion. Lessons? What lessons? Was he suggesting that she do private instruction in wandless magic? From what Hermione understood, casting spells on demand with no wand required intense power and skill. It was not something that was part of the Hogwarts curriculum, and indeed very few witches and wizards possessed the ability to perform such magic at all. His confidence in her potential was… well, the notion of wandless magic was certainly an intriguing one. But to do private lessons with him… she thought back to the previous night, to how she'd defiled herself with her own hand while visions of him flickered in her mind.

For a very long time, Hermione stood mutely staring at Newt Scamander's book on familiars. Finally, she said softly, "I am very grateful that you think me capable of such advanced magic, Professor Snape. However, as I am already doing extra work for History of Magic and have a very full course schedule, I do not think that this year -"

"So would you wait until next year to learn how to save yourself if for some reason your wand had been taken from you?"

His words were sharp as shattered glass, especially the last three, and Hermione raised her eyes slowly to him. The face that looked back at her bore his trademark irritated expression, but it didn't reach his eyes. His cold black eyes glinted sadly, silently pleading with her to understand.

This had nothing to do with the deficiency of his standard sixth-year curriculum. It didn't have anything to do with Hogwarts at all. He wanted her to be able to perform wandless magic because he had reason to believe that she would find herself without a wand.

Hermione tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone very dry all of a sudden. She studied his eyes again and saw something there that she would never have expected - fear. He was afraid for her. Hermione felt her stomach turn at the thought that such a serious plot was underway.

She nodded slowly and whispered, "When do I start, sir?"

His sigh of relief was almost imperceptibly small, and when he spoke his voice was flinty again. "Go eat lunch in the Great Hall, Miss Granger, and then meet me in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Eat until you feel truly full; drink plenty of fluids. You are going to need your strength."

* * *

Severus sat at his desk while he waited for her, marking second-year essays absently. He stopped when he realized he'd just given half credit to a paper he had not actually read, putting his quill gently upon the worn wooden desk.

 _'Bella, dear, why don't you show us all the new spell you've been working so hard on?' Voldemort released his shriveled prisoner from the agony of the Cruciatus, leaving the old wizard gasping and twitching upon the ground._

 _Bellatrix Lestrange bounced on the balls of her feet and pulled out her wand. 'I would be honored, My Lord.' A serene look of bliss crossed her pointed features as she carved a graceful swirl with her wand. '_ _ **Trahendum sordes**_ _...'_

 _She said the curse like a prayer, worshipping the words with an eerie smoothness to her voice. Severus watched as the old man's shriveled hands began to darken upon the rug. He recoiled in horror when he realized what was happening to the old man. Dirt was seeping out of him, little crumbles of it forcing their way out of his skin. He was too tortured to protest, but Severus thought it must have hurt badly as the dirt wormed its way through the old man's pores and formed little piles upon the rug._

 _Lord Voldemort laughed uproariously at the sight. 'Brilliant work, Bellatrix,' he hissed. He turned to the assembled Death Eaters. 'Curses like this one will show our Mudblood slaves what they are truly made of… that they are, at their core, nothing more than filth.'_

Severus felt acutely nauseated as the sight of the old man's torture pushed into his mind. He put up his mental shield against the memory and struggled to think of something else. His mind conjured up the feel of Hermione Granger's hand gently closing around his fist, and Severus shut his eyes. He had been trying not to think of that, either, but it was preferable to the memory of the Death Eaters' meeting. At least thoughts of Hermione were pleasant, if confusing and inappropriate.

He was jarred from his mental conflict by the sound of the classroom door creaking open. Glancing up, he saw her striding up the aisle between the desks, looking too casual for his liking in a pair of worn-out denims and a fitted flannel shirt in red and black check. Her caramel-colored loose curls had been pulled into a band at the nape of her neck, with a few straggling tendrils falling carelessly in front of her face.

 _She should be in her school robes, even if it is the holidays,_ Severus thought with a scowl. _It's much easier to see her as any other student that way._

He pushed himself up from his chair and strode silently around until he was a few feet away from her. She stared at him, waiting for directions, and when he gestured to one of the desks, she sat. He would stand up here and lecture at her. That way it was clear exactly who everyone was.

"You can put your wand away, Miss Granger," Severus drawled, steeling himself into his usual teaching demeanor. "You shall not be needing it."

Hermione obeyed his instructions immediately, just as she had for years. She put her wand in her canvas messenger bag and folded her hands upon the desk, looking back up at him expectantly.

"Now," Severus began, his tone commanding, "Tell me about your wand."

She looked thoroughly confused for a moment, but did not ask any questions, which was odd behavior for her. She opened her mouth to speak and hesitated before she said,

"I got it at Ollivander's the week before my first year. Professor McGonagall took me to Diagon Alley to get everything I needed. I was absolutely fascinated by the concept - a little stick of wood that could take all those strange things I'd been doing and channel them into something real, something useful." She paused and flashed him a crooked little melancholic smile. "My wand is made of vine. Dragon heartstring core. Ten and three-quarters inches. Supple. It has no real handle; the whole thing is one graceful piece, with beautiful vines making their up toward the tip. I like it very much."

Severus gave her a curt nod. "The wand chooses the witch, Miss Granger, and indeed wands are not only useful but nearly essential for effective, controlled magic. A wand works by taking the forces that you have inside of you and pulling them into a concentrated stream that can be sent forth in a burst when you cast a spell."

Hermione nodded eagerly at him. She knew all this, of course, but her chestnut eyes were wide with interest nonetheless. Severus continued, "For wandless magic to work, you must find the power inside you, gather it up, and channel it on your own. No help from your 'little stick of wood.' Just your mind and your body coalescing all of your ability into one push."

She looked even more intrigued now, and she was chewing on her lip the way she always did. Severus turned a bit and aimed his hand at his desk.

" _Accio_ quill," he murmured, moving his hand in a gentle arc. Immediately, the white eagle feather with which he'd been marking essays came soaring off the desk. Severus plucked it gracefully from the air, turning back to Hermione. She looked impressed, and a little envious, as she said quietly,

"I would like very much to be able to do that."

Severus smirked. "Summoning quills is one thing, Miss Granger, and of course you shall need to master that before moving on. But the goal of these lessons is for you to be able to perform a silent, wandless Shield Charm. When you can do that, then you don't have to come here any more. Until then, I expect you here every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday."

"Yes, sir." Hermione nodded her assent, a serious expression on her delicate face.

Severus suddenly wished she would stop calling him that. He was 'sir' to the fourth-year Gryffindors who behaved like dunderheads every lesson. He was 'sir' to the Slytherins under his charge. He was 'sir' to Harry Potter. But for some odd reason, Severus did not care for the sound of the word coming from Hermione Granger. It had never bothered him before. Now it sent a little queasy feeling through him.

He shook his head minutely, knowing that there was no way to ask her to stop addressing him as a professor. He was her professor, after all, so why should she think to address him any other way? He swallowed thickly and placed the quill upon the desk in front of Hermione.

"Stand up," he instructed her, and she did it so quickly that Severus thought perhaps he'd sounded cruel in his command. He often did, he knew, but he did not want to sound like that today. He was not precisely sure why not. He softened his tone a bit as he said, "Extend your wand hand toward the quill. Make the same motion you would with your wand, and say the incantation to summon the quill. Concentrate as hard as you can."

Hermione nodded solemnly. She licked her lips and stared at the quill. "Right," she said determinedly, with all the Gryffindor bravado Severus expected of her. She squared her jaw and held up her right hand, making a smooth arc in the air. " _Accio_ quill!"

The quill trembled upon the desk, and Hermione glared at it, willing it to come to her. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip and her cheekbones flushed pink as she concentrated. The quill levitated a few inches off the desk, hovered for a moment, and then fluttered back down.

Hermione lowered her arm, a defeated expression crossing her face. She frowned up at Severus. "I couldn't do it," she said, as if he had not been watching.

But Severus was more than a little impressed with her first attempt, and so he said, "Miss Granger, the first time I attempted a wandless Summoning Charm, I found myself staring at a pocket-watch for two hours. It never moved once."

She looked a little embarrassed at his oblique praise, her cheeks going pink once more. She gave him a little smile and said, "But you've explained it very well to me, so I think I have a good theoretical starting point, at least…"

"What did it feel like?" Severus asked suddenly, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his weight. Hermione stared at the quill thoughtfully.

"I felt a sort of vibration in my head," she said, "and a throbbing."

Severus nodded once. "Those are the first stirrings of what wandless work feels like, Miss Granger, but you need to try much harder to concentrate and channel the energy of your magic."

He stepped briskly toward her, slowing his steps once he neared her, and stood just behind her so that she could work without him in her line of sight. He very quickly realized he should not have done that.

He could smell her perfume from here - daisies and the fresh hope of spring - and from this angle the gentle curves of her slender form were far more obvious. Severus tried to speak, but found his voice was stuck somewhere in the bottom of his throat. He cleared his throat and tried again, but at the sound of his little cough, Hermione turned slowly around to face him.

 _Too close_ , Severus thought, a wave of panic shooting through his veins as he realized he could see even her palest freckles from here. Her eyes were looking up at him curiously… wide, shimmering circles of golden brown, silently asking him for instruction.

 _Too close_ , he thought again, and he held his breath for a moment before saying in a tight murmur, "Turn around and face the quill, Miss Granger."

"Yes, sir," she whispered, and Severus felt confusion wash over him as she turned back around.

There she was again, calling him 'sir,' when for some bizarre, unexplainable reason, he wanted to hear her say 'Severus.' Appalled with himself, Severus pushed away the twinge of lust that had appeared and said very gruffly,

"Where does your power reside, in your body?"

"Is the answer the same for everyone?" Hermione asked, facing away from him.

"No." Severus hesitated, and then said, "My magic, for instance, is contained mostly at my solar plexus. I know this because that is where it hurts the worst after I perform wandless work."

He knew she was smart enough to figure out the answer. Suddenly, she gasped.

"Chakras," she said. Severus nodded, even though she could not see him.

Chakras, the energy points and nodes, were known even to some Muggles, who incorporated the concept into Hindu and Buddhist belief systems. For witches and wizards, awareness of which chakra contained their magic could be the most important step in increasing their power and self-control.

Severus had long ago discovered that the great majority of his magical potential lay at the point of the fifth chakra, Manipura, which was in his abdomen. In Muggle belief systems, this energy node was associated with personal power, fear, and introversion. Severus had always thought it very appropriate that his magic lived there.

He had a very strong inclination that he knew where Hermione's magic was. The third chakra, Vishuddha, was rumored to be associated with independence, fluent thought, and security. Severus thought this might be where Hermione kept her power.

"Try to Summon the quill again," he instructed her, taking a step back and watching from behind her as she obediently raised her right hand in front of her. Before she could cast the spell, Severus said, "Concentrate, Miss Granger. Find all of your magic and pull it into a very small, very dense point. Then push it out of your hand with all of your might. Go ahead."

She stood there for a long moment, and Severus could see her shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath. Then she glided her hand through the air in an elegant arc and said the incantation in a breathy whisper. " _Accio_ quill."

The white feather shot immediately off of the desk and flew quickly toward her, landing squarely in Hermione's right hand. She clutched it tightly and panted as she turned around. Severus took another step back, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"I did it!" She wore a bright, sunny grin upon her face, one that made Severus want to do things he truly knew he should not. He scuffed his right foot on the ground, knowing he should step even further back, but instead the foot pulled in front of him and he stepped toward her.

"Where did it come from?" he asked her, trying to rid himself of the desirous flush he knew was coloring his alabaster cheeks. "Where did you gather your magic?"

"Right here." Hermione brought her fingertips up to her neck. She cupped her palm around her throat and curled her fingers against her skin.

Severus' hand trailed after hers, quite of its own accord. He watched his trembling fingers reach out to brush over her neck with curious fascination, as if they belonged to someone else. They must, he thought, for it was impossible that he would be caressing her.

She whimpered aloud as his hand stroked the delicate skin of her throat. It was a small sound, but it cracked with want, and Severus suddenly felt a molten surge of desire threatening to burn him alive.

There was a tightness in his trousers that Severus knew should _absolutely_ not be there, for this was Hermione Granger he was touching, but for all the world he could not make his arousal go away.

His breath shook fiercely as it ebbed and flowed through his lips, parted in shock. He watched, confused and fascinated, as Hermione's long eyelashes fluttered, her eyes gently closing as she tipped her chin up. He kept stroking her throat, his mind screaming at him to stop, that this would ruin everything if it went on for one more second.

But then she quietly moaned at his touch, and the sound vibrated against his hand. Severus tried not to gasp, tried not groan back at her, and felt another shock of want crash through him like a bolt of lightning.

"That's exactly where it is," Hermione whispered, her eyes still closed. "That's where all of it is. I think I could take it all from right there and condense it, and then amplify it with my very will. I could do anything now that I know where it is."

Her eyes fluttered open again, and Severus pulled his hand off of her as if her skin had burned him. He took a quick step back, away from her, and averted his eyes to the ground.

"Jinx me," he said suddenly, and there was a long beat of silence.

"What?" Her voice was soft, confused. There was no 'sir,' no begging of pardons. It was just one baffled little word.

"Jinx me," Severus repeated, nodding emphatically. "If you feel so strongly that you've got complete control of your magic, then go ahead and cast a jinx at me. You won't need any more lessons."

Hermione hesitated, chewing her lip and scowling, but then determinedly raised her hand and cried, " _Flipendo_!"

A blue ball of light formed at her extended palm and quickly turned magenta, and Severus waited for the Knockback Jinx to send him flying. But she overcharged the spell, and the magenta ball of light turned a bright, fiery red.

"Hermione, stop!" Severus exclaimed, but it was too late. The jinx backfired, shooting into her chest and sending her soaring through the air. She hit the wall with a sickening crunch and flopped to the ground, groaning in agony.

Severus dashed over to her, genuflecting beside her crumpled form.

"I'm all right," she said meekly, before he could ask. She pushed herself up slowly to sit, looking dazed and dizzy. Severus did not think she was all right at all; she was swaying where she sat and her eyes were glassy.

"You're going straight to the hospital wing. Let's go." He moved to fetch his wand so that he could try to get her in some condition to walk up to Poppy Pomfrey.

"No, please…" She shook her head, putting her hand on his forearm and hauling herself up on shaking legs.

 _Damned Gryffindors_ , Severus thought, watching her stumble a bit as she made her way back to the desk with her bag.

"That is more than enough for today," Severus hissed, as much to himself as to her. "Go. Rest." Then, knowing that she would be in considerable pain after sailing into a wall, he silently Summoned a clay jar from his office. He held it out to Hermione. "Butterfly weed balm."

"Thank you," she whispered, tucking the clay jar into her messenger bag. She started to walk away from the desk, limping a little, but not as much as Severus would have expected. Then her steps paused, and she turned quickly around. Her eyes blazed at him. "You called me 'Hermione.'"

Her voice was almost accusatory, far more sharp than he was used to hearing from her, and Severus frowned. He had not done that, had he?

"When?" he scoffed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

"I overcharged the Knockback Jinx, and right before it backfired, I heard you say, 'Hermione, stop.'" He met her curious brown eyes for a moment before flicking his own away, to where the white quill sat forgotten on the desk.

"It was an exclamation in a moment of great concern," he said, making his voice impassive and blank, "and, anyway, Miss Granger, teachers at this school are free to address students however they please."

She said nothing at first, but nodded slowly. Then she murmured, "Of course, Professor. You're absolutely right, sir. I'm sorry for the misunderstanding. Thank you for the lesson. Happy New Year."

Then she turned on her heel and limped quickly from the classroom.

* * *

Hermione dipped her fingers into the clay jar of butterfly weed balm, carving out a glob of the creamy ointment and smearing it over her bare shoulder. It absorbed quickly into her skin with a pleasant warming sensation. Most of the aching and soreness was gone now, having reached a peak the previous day, but Hermione did not want to show a hint of weakness when she next saw Professor Snape.

It was the fourth of January, the day before the student body was to return to Hogwarts for the recommencement of term. It was also a Saturday, and unless Hermione had heard incorrectly, she was supposed to be on the third floor for Wandless Magic lessons on Saturdays.

Professor Snape hadn't specified a time of day, and Hermione had not seen him since New Year's. So, honestly, she had no idea whether or not she'd even find him in the classroom, or whether she would be welcome there. But she would go nonetheless.

The past three days had been the most confusing of Hermione's entire life. She had not truly registered what had happened in that classroom until after she'd left, and only then had she realized the gravity of it all.

First, there was the notion of what she could do now. Wandless magic was an incredibly powerful tool available to a select group of witches and wizards, and Hermione was now among them. That frightened her a bit. Although she had demonstrated immense control of her power in Summoning the quill from the table, she had also clearly been unable to harness it all, throwing herself hard against the wall when she'd attempted to a Knockback Jinx against Professor Snape. It was a scary notion, that she had located the whole sum of her energy in her body, and that she could concentrate it and hurl it around as so few others could do.

Then there had been _him_ , and the way he'd _touched_ her, and what it had meant to her afterward. Hermione had been surprised, to say the least, when she'd seen his fingers reach for her throat. The feel of his hand upon her neck had been electrifying, sending a shock of longing through her core.

 _Don't pull away,_ a little voice inside of her had pleaded. _Please, please… whatever you do, don't take your hand away._

And he'd left his fingers there for a good long while, brushing them back and forth, curling them against her throat in a manner so alluring that Hermione had sincerely feared her knees would give out. There had been a rush of moisture between her thighs that might have embarrassed her, but his touch had gone straight to her head, and she was too intoxicated to care.

And then he had said her name, her real name, when he'd realized she had overcharged her spell. She had hardly heard him, for her body had been surging and pulsing with magic. The ringing in her ears had been loud and squealing, the burn in her throat insistent. Just before the jinx rebounded and kicked her in the chest, she'd heard him… " _Hermione, stop!"_

But he'd been cold and distant as she'd limped from the classroom, his parting words deliberately sharp and impersonal. And she had neither seen nor spoken to him since.

Hermione's hands trembled nervously as she dressed at nine on Saturday morning, pulling on her old denims and a plain, stretchy rose-colored shirt. She tamed her hair into a loose, low chignon and slipped her feet into dark brown trainers, grabbing her wand on the way out of the dormitory. She made her way down the multiple flights of stairs and through the empty corridors, grateful again that there was only one day left until the school would ring out with the voices of her peers.

Finally, she stood in front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, her hand hovering on the handle of the door for a long moment as she debated whether or not to open it. At last, she pulled the heavy door open, wincing at its boisterous creak, and stepped cautiously into the cavernous space.

He was there, up at his desk. His teaching robes and frock coat were tossed over the back of his chair, and he sat in a crisp white high-necked shirt as he wrote quickly upon a parchment. He did not look up at her when she came in, and so she shut the door as quietly as she could and stalked wordlessly up between the rows of desks, standing silently before him and waiting to be acknowledged.

She stood there for at least five minutes, looking up at him and wondering why he was ignoring her, before he finally said,

"Had we decided upon nine-fifteen, then, Miss Granger?"

He kept his eyes upon his work, and Hermione sighed quietly. So he was going to make this awkward, then. He was going to not only pretend he had not caressed her neck, but he was going to be even more cold to her than usual. Fine.

"I don't think you specified a time, sir," she said briskly. "I apologize for not inquiring sooner as to the specifics. I should have, of course, asked you what time you wanted me here today. I'm very sorry, Professor."

"Hmm." He finally stopped writing, putting his quill down on the desk and snapping his face up to her. His gaze was piercing, and Hermione noticed again how he'd shucked his frock coat and was wearing a white shirt today. She'd never seen him without his black robes before, and it was rather alarming not to see him sheathed in dark fabric.

But the way he'd rolled his sleeves up was appealing. Hermione had never realized that forearms could be a source of attraction, but his sinewy ones were striking. His high collar had two buttons undone, so that his Adam's Apple was visible, and she shivered at the sight of it.

Then she realized he must not have been expecting her just then, because he rose from his desk and rolled his sleeves down, covering up his exquisite arms, and buttoned them at the wrists. He did up his shirt at the collar, and Hermione frowned as he reached for his frock coat on the back of his chair. It was another three or four minutes in silence as he faced away from her and bound himself up in the black garment, and then he turned to face her, looking just as he always did.

He gestured silently to the same desk where she'd sat last time, and Hermione slithered into the chair, folding her hands patiently atop the table. He paced silently for a moment at the front of the room, and she could not help but notice the smoothness of his strides, and realized for the first time how _tall_ he was.

"It is all well and good, Miss Granger," he began in an oily voice, "to be able to perform one wandless spell at a time. However, in an emergent situation, you shall need to 'reload,' as it were. You will need to be able to pull up your magic over and over again, to regroup yourself and condense it and hurl it forward, repeatedly and quickly. The last jinx you tried was too strong, and it backfired. Today you will attempt weaker hexes and jinxes in a rapid-fire pattern. I believe this strategy will be more effective in an emergency. Think of it as being armed with an AK-47 as opposed to a rocket-propelled grenade launcher."

Hermione guffawed aloud at the Muggle analogy. Professor Snape scowled at the way she laughed at him, so Hermione said kindly, "It's actually quite a good comparison, sir. I see what you mean. Neither is terribly accurate, but both can be very deadly. The AK-47 is effective if you can just spray someone with enough bullets. Same with jinxes and hexes, when fired quickly enough. The RPG is powerful, but it can blow your shoulder out of its socket if you don't know what you're doing… and it's got terrible aim."

Professor Snape nodded curtly, quirking up the corner of his mouth in a little smirk. "Come up here," he said quietly. "Leave your wand on the desk."

Hermione stood and walked slowly around until she was about ten paces away from Snape. She wrung her hands anxiously together in front of her stomach, chewing upon her lip. She knew what he was going to have her do, and she started wracking her brain to think of spells.

Sure enough, he said, "I want you to put your right arm up, Miss Granger, and use that same technique you did the other day. Gather all of your magic as quickly as you can. Charge it up, condense it, hard and fast. Then push it out into a jinx. Fire as many of them as you can, one after the other. I'll block them, and so you probably won't see me breaking out into hives or sprouting antlers. Just keep casting them. I'll let one or two through for you."

He smirked again at her, and gave her a sarcastic little bow as if they were having a proper duel.

"Whenever you're ready," he said, holding up his wand defensively.

Hermione gulped and stared at her hand. She shook her head a bit. "I don't want to hex you," she whispered. She heard him sigh irritatedly, but when he spoke, his voice was more gentle than usual.

"Would you have any hesitation in hexing Bellatrix Lestrange? Antonin Dolohov?"

Hermione felt bile rise in her throat at the mention of those names, and she shook her head emphatically. Snape cocked his head.

"Then you must learn," he said, "and unfortunately for me, neither of them are here to absorb your spells. It's all right, Hermione. Go ahead."

She felt her mouth drop open in surprise then, for he'd said her name again. But his face showed no indication that he realized he'd done it, and so Hermione said nothing about it. She closed her mouth and raised her hand determinedly, breathing in deeply.

She felt where her magic lived, in the bottom of her throat, and she pulled it into a tight little ball, white hot and pulsing. She used her mind to make it glow hotter, brighter, stronger, as quickly as she could, and then imagined the ball traveling from her throat out of her chest and through her arm, pushing with immense force through her palm as she shouted, " _Ebublio!_ "

It was a stupid jinx, one designed to trap the opponent in a bubble, but sure enough a purple shock of fire shot forth and whipped its way toward Snape. He flicked his wand at the purple light and muttered something, and the purple flame exploded into a flurry of sparks. Hermione felt a little twinge of distracted disappointment that he'd so easily repelled her magic.

"Keep going," he said calmly, his voice as smooth as silk.

Hermione squared her jaw and focused again on the spot at the bottom of her throat. It felt like there was nothing there, like she needed to wait for the magic to come back, so she clenched her eyes shut and dug deeper, finding a glow of white magic further beneath the surface. She repeated the process of condensing and pulling, whipping and hurling, and cried, " _Relashio!_ "

The violet sparks that whirled toward Snape were mostly repelled with a wave of his wand, but a few hit his frock coat, and he slid backward a few feet on the floor of the classroom, staggering as he struggled to keep his balance. He chuckled under his breath, his laughter sounding dark and mysterious.

"Good," he admitted hesitantly. "Very good. Keep going. Faster. Like a machine gun."

Hermione's throat ached as if she had a bad cold, and she coughed a little. She nodded and pulled her hand up once more, breathing deeply to center her thoughts and energy. She drew forth the largest concentration of magic she possibly could, a throbbing, white-hot orb of power. As she hurled it from her hand, she yelled out every hex that came to mind.

" _Entomorphis! Anteoculatia! Redactum skullus! Nimis calida!"_

One by one, Professor Snape deflected her spells. Green rings went flying away from him and disintegrated; a red jet of light was sent off to a wall, where it dissolved into nothing. Frustrated by his ability to stop her, and feeling flush with magic, Hermione whipped out a fresh ball of strong energy and shouted an incantation she'd read in a book at some point.

" _Interminagaudens!"_

A white ball of light burst forth from Hermione's palm and shot quickly toward Professor Snape. A bewildered expression crossed his face as she shouted the spell, his confusion lasting just long enough for the white light to strike him square in the chest. Then he buckled at the waist, gasping as his eyes went wide.

Hermione's right hand flew to her mouth, and she watched in horror as she realized what she had done. Snape's back arched and his right hand clutched anxiously at his knee, his face contorted in an expression that looked very much as though he were in immense pain.

But he wasn't in pain, Hermione knew. She'd hit him with the Never-Ending Climax Jinx, which she'd found in a very old copy of _Witches Behaving Badly._ She'd read the book as research for an essay on gender and magic, and… well, it didn't matter now. All that mattered was that, for some strange reason, the jinx had come to her mind and the words had escaped her mouth before she knew what she was doing.

Now Professor Snape stood before her, trapped in a strong, unending orgasm, and Hermione was absolutely mortified. She stood frozen, her mouth agape in dismay, and felt hot tears of shame rise to her eyes.

He was stifling moan after moan as he staggered away from her, leaning heavily against a desk and panting desperately. He faced away from her and let out a tortured groan, pounding his fist on the desk as if he were in pain. He pointed his wand at himself, and Hermione could see it shaking fiercely in his hand.

" _Fini… fin… finite…"_

He was trying to end her jinx. Hermione gasped and jolted back to reality, realizing with a pang of guilt that he probably _did_ feel as though he were being tortured. With a great sense of dread and humiliation, she snatched her own wand from the table beside her and aimed it at his back. She swiped a remorseful tear from her eye and whispered, " _Finite incantatem."_

It took him a long moment to recover. His hands gripped the edge of the desk, still facing away from her, and his back heaved heavily for a few minutes in agonizing silence. Hermione cried softly, feeling as though she'd committed the worst crime imaginable.

" _Tergeo,"_ she heard him whisper, and acid rose in her throat as she realized he was cleaning up the mess in his trousers. The mess she'd forced him to make.

 _Hermione, you terrible, awful wench. You bitch._

What on Earth had come over her? Of all the hexes and jinxes in existence, why would it _ever_ occur to her to jinx Professor Snape into a perpetual orgasm… especially right in front of her? As humiliated as Hermione felt, she knew he must have been ten times more embarrassed. He had offered her lessons in self-defense so that she might save her own life. And what had she done? She had betrayed him.

The guilt was eating her from the inside out, and she quickly grabbed her messenger bag. She needed to leave. Now.

"I'm very sorry, sir," she whispered breathily, and she started to walk quickly down the aisle between the desks. She whirled around quickly when her bicep was snatched roughly, and a little whimper of pain escaped her lips.

When she turned around, she was staring up into his glaring face, glinting with rage and something else she couldn't identify. He was hovering above her, so close she could see that his eyes were not, in fact, black. They were the deepest shade of brown, bottomless pools of espresso that sucked her in and held her fast. She held her breath, feeling his hand tighten painfully around her arm.

"Please, sir," she whispered finally, "I'm so sorry…"

"What are you playing at, Miss Granger?" he demanded, and though his words were angry, his soft voice trembled unevenly.

Hermione shook her head in confusion, feeling more humiliated tears tumble down her cheeks. His hand tightened even more around her arm, and she tried to pull away. She whimpered at the pain, and when he heard her little cry, Snape flicked his eyes to his hand and quickly released her.

She rubbed the spot he'd squeezed so roughly, knowing there would be a bruise there. She thought she probably deserved that after what she'd done to him. She'd practically tortured him. That was no ordinary jinx she'd thrown at him.

"So if Antonin Dolohov tries to brand your arm, your strategy is to buckle him over in physical ecstasy?" Snape sneered derisively at Hermione, hovering even more closely above her. She cowered a bit from him, feeling frightened all of a sudden.

"I…" she began, not knowing quite what to say. She licked her lips and tried again. "It _did_ seem to be incapacitating."

Professor Snape laughed cruelly at that, snorting bitterly as he agreed, "Yes, my dear. It was quite... incapacitating." He took a few steps back and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her with a completely blank expression. Hermione searched his eyes for some sort of emotion, but it was as though he'd wiped them clear. He sighed a little, and then said, "I think you've quite figured how to cast offensive wandless spells. Good day, Miss Granger."

He wanted her to leave, and so Hermione tried to leave. She tried to pick up her right foot, and then her left, so that she could turn around and go. He did not want her there, after all. But she found herself quite frozen in place, unable to move at all. Instead, she found herself with tears tracking down her cheeks, pitiful sobs ripping their way from her chest. She shut her eyes and internally screamed at herself to _stop it_ , that she had no right to cry, but she could not help it at all. She hung her head in shame and let the tears fall, knowing he was watching her with disgust.

"You'll hate me forever," she heard herself say plaintively, "and I'm just… I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't mean to... I don't want you to hate me. Please, sir…"

"Don't call me that."

His words were sharp as needles, and Hermione raised her eyes slowly to him in confusion. _Don't call him what? 'Sir?'_

That was what she'd always called him. Why would he not want her to call him that?

"But, sir, I don't…"

"Don't… call me… _sir._ " His voice was very tight now, and as she looked at him, he shut his eyes and looked pained. At his sides, his hands clenched into fists and then released themselves. Hermione suddenly understood. There was a long beat of silence, and then she dared to whisper slowly to him,

"You swept your fingertips over my throat."

"I know I did." His eyes were still shut. His voice was still strained. Hermione pushed further, taking a step toward him.

"I liked it."

There was another beat of silence, agonizingly long, and Hermione felt a twist of fear in her chest, until he whispered,

"As did I."

His chin dropped toward his chest then, and he opened his eyes, but he frowned deeply and looked defeated. He shook his head a little as Hermione took another step toward him. Her heart was trying to break free of her chest; her head was swimming. Her magic was boiling in her throat.

"I'm sorry for the hex. Please don't hate me for it."

"I do not hate you," he said, and then, sighing, he added, "for anything."

She had closed the gap between them now, the one he'd opened by backing away from her, and now she was back underneath him, staring up at his face. She found herself wanting nothing more than to reach up and touch him, because she found herself wondering if any of this could be real. If she could just feel his face, then she would know.

She watched her hand as it drifted up to his cheek, resting gently against the pale angle of his jaw. She gasped a little at the feel of his skin, smooth and cool, and thought she might have offended him when she saw him grit his teeth and wrench his eyes shut. But then he swallowed thickly and leaned his face into her hand, just the tiniest bit, and she smirked.

"You called me 'Hermione,'" she reminded him, her voice a low sigh.

"I know I did."

"You've done it a few times."

He nodded against her hand. "I know."

Then his actions were smooth and swift and sudden. He moved his hands to Hermione's shoulders, grasping them tightly, and he glided her back a few paces until she felt her back press against the classroom door.

She gasped as her body pressed against the wood, for then he was only inches away from her, his face lingering above hers and staring down at her with an expression of unmitigated hunger. He softened the look in his eyes when he heard her frightened panting, and then his slender, coarse hand drifted up to caress her throat just like he'd done a few days earlier.

Hermione sighed, feeling a bolt of desire surge through her veins. Between her legs, she felt a rush of wet heat as his fingers drifted around her neck. She suppressed the throaty little moan that wanted to escape her lips, knowing that she'd sound wanton if she let it out.

"Ohh…" she whispered instead, not knowing what to call him in this moment. Her hands rose up aimlessly, finally coming to settle upon the front of his frock coat. His chest was hard, even beneath the thick black wool, and she pressed her palms against the jacket to feel his firm body.

He grunted a bit when she touched him, cocking his head to the side and jutting his jaw forward as if he were in pain. But she knew he was only trying to temper his motions, to stay in control. She looked up into his dark eyes to search them and saw that they were glistening with want, a cold fire searing through his gaze and boring into hers.

She silently willed him to continue, and she sighed gratefully when his hand glided up from her throat and cupped her cheek gently. Then she grew abruptly nervous as his face descended a bit, and she realized that he meant to kiss her. She panicked. This was a point of no return… something they might regret deeply.

"I… I should probably go now," she stammered in an awkward whisper.

"Yes." He nodded and licked his bottom lip, the action sending a fresh shock through Hermione's core. But his face got closer still. "Yes. You probably should."

Then his lips touched hers, so softly that she was not entirely sure they had done so at all. She could feel his breath mingling with hers, warm and quick and urgent. Then she was certain she felt his lips, for they were far more rough than her own. He pressed them gently against hers, soothing her mouth with his own as he stroked her temple with his thumb. She shivered and sighed against his lips. He started to pull away, to stand up, and Hermione whimpered, for she wanted more.

He grunted again, softly, when he heard her protest, and he pressed his mouth against hers again. She parted her lips as he neared, inviting him in, and he tentatively lathed his tongue against the roof of her mouth. She moaned then, unable to help herself, and felt his hand tighten sharply against her cheek.

He pulled away then, and she let him, before it all went too far. He was breathing hard through his nostrils, doing a better job than she was of not panting like an idiot. Hermione swiped anxiously at her wet mouth with the back of her hand and stared at him with wide eyes as he took a few slow steps away from the door.

"I… I shall see you back here on Tuesday, then," he murmured, avoiding her eyes. His voice was bore its familiar slick tone, with a shaking undercurrent.

"Monday," she answered hesitantly, wincing as she said, "Sixth-year Defense Against the Dark Arts, remember?"

"Ah." He made an unpleasant face as the impropriety of the situation hit them both. "Yes. Of course. Well. I shall see you then."

Hermione nodded silently and turned to open the door. She spared one last glance back to him as she slipped out of the classroom, expecting that he would be staring coldly away from her. But he was watching her go, and in his dark eyes she saw a mix of fear and longing that made her dizzy all over again.


	3. Chapter 3

" _Severus…"_

 _She bucked her hips against his thigh and moaned his name against his neck. Her fingers curled around his shoulder as she rubbed her sex steadily on him, his leg getting slick and warm from her._

" _Come on, Hermione. Come for me." He growled and tipped his chin to kiss her sweat-slicked forehead, his member aching desperately for attention. "Come for me now, lovely little angel."_

" _Ungh… I can't… Severus…"_

 _She clutched onto him tightly and buried her face hard into the crook of his neck, letting out a choked little sob as her hips bucked one last time and then stilled. Her entire body trembled fiercely, tense as a violin string, and then she collapsed like a rag doll against him._

" _Good girl, Hermione," he whispered into the darkness._

Severus' eyes sprang open and he gasped for air as if he were drowning. He sat bolt upright in his bed, wondering anxiously what time it was, and flicked his eyes to the clock on his mantle with a thick gulp.

Eight o'clock. He'd overslept somehow. He was late for breakfast in the Great Hall, but would be on time for his first lesson of the day if he hurried to get himself ready. He threw the duvet off of his body and moved to toss his legs over the side of the bed before he realized there was something sticky and wet all over the front of his long flannel nightshirt.

Severus curled his lip up in disgust at himself and hissed a sickened breath through his teeth as he realized he'd had a wet dream like a damned teenager. He could not honestly recall the last time this had happened to him. It was as humiliating now, alone in his own room, as when it had happened in the Slytherin dormitories.

He reached for his wand on the little bedside table and pointed the blunt tip toward his crotch. _Tergeo_ , he thought silently, and the mess was cleaned from his skin. It wasn't enough, he thought, and he made his way to his private bathroom.

The bathroom was small but luxurious-looking, with black lacquered paneling covering the walls. The sink was a free-standing white fixture that had been there, Severus knew, since Queen Victoria was in charge of Britain and plumbing was first brought to Hogwarts. The toilet matched, and so did the claw-footed white porcelain bath. Through a narrow stone arch, there was a small area that had been tiled with black mosaic, above which dangled a simple showerhead. There were no windows, of course, since the bathroom was in the dungeons, so the little room was illuminated by a few recessed sconces. Severus lit them with a flick of his wand as he stormed into the room, whipping his night shirt over his head and glaring at himself in the tarnished mirror above his sink.

 _What the devil is the matter with you?_ he asked himself as he cleaned his teeth. He remembered his dream vividly now, and his cheeks went red with shame. He'd spent the past two days trying to forget that he'd kissed her, hoping she would do the same.

She wouldn't, of course. How could she possibly forget that he had pinned her against a door and put his mouth to hers? But, then, how could Severus possibly forget that she'd hexed him with the Never-Ending Climax Jinx?

Where had she even learnt that spell? _The Restricted Section, no doubt,_ Severus scowled as he spat toothpaste roughly into the sink. He slammed his toothbrush down upon the edge of the sink and decided he would shave the old-fashioned way today. He opened the mirror, revealing the medicine cabinet behind it, and took out his can of Muggle shaving cream.

This was the only thing he'd learnt properly from his father - how to shave like a man. It was relaxing, sometimes, and this morning he desperately needed to calm down. Severus wet a washcloth with hot water from the sink and then filled the basin with warm water. He wrung out the washcloth and held it to his cheeks for a long moment to prepare his face, staring thoughtfully into the mirror as he remembered Hermione's jinx.

' _Interminagaudens_ ,' she had shouted at him, and he'd been so shocked to hear the incantation from her that he'd neglected to block the spell. It had hit him like a shot, and then all of a sudden he'd exploded. His cock had abruptly hardened and instantaneously began spilling seed inside his trousers, as though he'd become aroused and finished in a matter of seconds. But unlike a normal climax, which was over in seconds, the pulsing and throbbing kept going and going. It would have been spectacular, if _she_ hadn't been standing _right there_ , watching him.

Severus had turned around, away from her, humiliated and unable to stop the pumping and trembling and buzzing that was wracking him from head to toe. It needed to stop, he knew, because she was _right there_ , but it felt better than anything had ever felt before. This wasn't a hex at all, some crazy thought had screamed. It was a charm! But the logical part of his brain had willed his hand to reach for his wand. He'd tried to end the spell, but was unable to summon his magic. He was too busy coming in his pants.

Severus felt his cheeks flush again with embarrassment at the thought of that, that he'd needed Hermione to cast the _finite incantatem_ at his back, or he would have stood there all day in ecstasy. He growled again and wadded up the damp washcloth, tossing it aside and smearing a small amount of rich shaving cream onto his cheeks. He glided his razor over his face, rinsing it meticulously between every stroke. When he was clean-shaven, he inspected his reflection in the mirror again.

 _Hideous_ , he thought. _Why on Earth would she want to kiss you?_

She had not kissed him, he reminded himself. He had kissed her. Severus took a three minute shower, scrubbing his hair and body angrily and rinsing himself with icy water before toweling quickly off. He stared down at his naked body as he opened his wardrobe.

 _Ugly,_ he told himself. _Your stupid dream was nothing but idiotic fantasy._

Not that it mattered. Not that any of it mattered. He hardly had time to concern himself with lust or emotion when there was to be a war on. He was going to wind up committing murder and everyone was going to think he was an evil lunatic. Now was hardly the time to go about kissing pupils.

Severus adjusted the sleeves on his white dress shirt and pulled on his frock coat, his fingers nimbly doing up the buttons. He cast a hot-air charm at his hair and raked his fingers through it before yanking on his dragon-hide boots and striding determinedly out of his quarters. There would be no breakfast this morning, but he did not care. He made his way briskly to the third floor and flung open the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. A few Gryffindors and a Slytherin or two were already in there, chattering quietly at their desks.

He tried not to look for her. He tried to ignore her when he saw her out of the corner of his eye. When neither of those strategies worked, he tried very hard not to make eye contact with her as he stalked up the aisle between the desks. But she was staring at him with a questioning sort of gaze, and Severus felt a lump gather in his throat. He felt guilty; he felt dirty. He pulled the chair out behind his desk, sinking into it with a silent sigh and reaching for the nearest stack of unmarked essays. The students continued to chat among themselves, ignoring him, and more slowly filed in as the start of lessons drew closer. But he could feel her chestnut eyes on him, staring.

 _Don't look at me, Hermione_ , he scolded her in his head. _Talk to Weasley. Talk to Potter. Just don't look at me. Please._

It was as if she'd heard him, because then she suddenly turned to her side and started talking to Harry Potter about something. Severus let out the breath he'd been holding and felt his hand tremble fiercely as he scribbled some arbitrary criticism on a fifth-year Hufflepuff essay.

Finally, he glanced at the clock and realized he was two minutes past the start of lessons. He stood smoothly and stared down at his desk as he barked at the class,

"Turn your textbooks to page two hundred and sixty-eight."

There was an audible grumble among the Gryffindors as they registered that term had recommenced, and books were reluctantly opened and pages flipped. Severus waited impatiently for a moment, twirling his wand in his fingers.

"Miss Brown," he said, flicking his eyes to the blonde-haired girl beside Ron Weasley, "begin reading beneath the image, if you please."

The Gryffindor girl cleared her throat delicately and frowned down at her page. "' _Many of the Dark Arts produce ill effects to the person. Whether by spell, potion, or cursed object, many have found themselves in need of healing after being victimized by the Dark Arts. Obviously, there are innumerable potions available with healing properties. However, it is also quite valuable to know a number of healing spells, in case one should find oneself injured without a potion._ "

Lavender Brown stopped reading and looked up at Severus as if to ask if she should continue. Severus sniffed quietly and walked slowly around his desk. He began to slowly pace back and forth in front of the class. He could feel Hermione's eyes on him, and he wrung his hands tightly together behind his back.

 _She's just one of them, Severus. Ignore her and teach the damned lesson._

"Professor Snape?" Lavender Brown's squeaky little voice asked. "Shall I continue?"

"Mister Weasley," Severus snapped by way of answer, glaring up at the ginger-haired menace beside Lavender, "name a basic but effective spell for healing a broken bone."

Ronald Weasley stared blankly at Severus, his shoulders finally rising and falling in a shrug of defeat. "I dunno, sir," he admitted. One table over, Hermione's arm shot up eagerly.

Severus rolled his eyes and sighed, ignoring her.

"Mr. Malfoy?" he asked, turning to Draco. The Slytherin he'd sworn to protect looked distracted; he was thumbing through a small black book and was paying no attention whatsoever to class. His blond head snapped up at the sound of his name. Wondering distantly what exactly Draco was reading about, Severus cocked an irritated eyebrow at him.

"I'm sorry, sir?" Draco muttered apologetically.

"A healing spell for a broken bone, Mr. Malfoy." Severus pursed his lips in annoyance. Draco put the little book he was reading down. Severus narrowed his eyes and silently thought ' _Legilimens.'_

Draco's mind opened like a swinging gate for him, and it took the briefest of moments for Severus to see exactly what he was looking for. Draco shivered visibly as Severus read his mind, expecting to see plain as day that the small black book was a source of ideas for the assassination of Albus Dumbledore. But what he saw instead were printed words on a page. _Mudbloods... extermination… theft of magic… purity through the ages…_ Furrowing his brow in alarm, Severus pulled quickly out of Draco's mind and repeated softly,

"A spell that one might use if a bone had been broken and one had no access to a healing potion."

Draco jolted to attention and nodded.

"Er… well, I suppose one might use ' _episkey_ ,'" he said quietly.

It was hardly the best response, but Severus nodded curtly and prepared to move on.

"That would suffice," he muttered. He turned and started pacing again, but Hermione was still waving her arm wildly.

"Please, sir," she called out, and Severus whirled to shoot her an angry glare. In previous years, his enraged scowl would have silenced her and lowered her arm, but she persisted. " _Episkey_ would work for something like a nasal fracture or a black eye, but for a broken bone, it would be grossly insufficient, would it not? I would recommend a spell such as _Ferula_ , which would bandage and splint the broken bone. It also provides some pain relief. Even _reparifors_ would likely be more effective than _episkey_ , provided that the bone had been broken through magical means. But, in any case, I don't think _episkey_ would be strong enough to fix anything but cartilage or tissue… certainly not a broken bone!"

She was silent then, as were the rest of the students, who stared from Hermione back up to Severus to see how he was going to react to her outburst. Severus pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at her, trying very hard to ignore the way her own chestnut eyes were staring at him with wild eagerness. He'd seen that same look from her before, when he had her pressed up against the door and was kissing her, and -

"Miss Granger, did I call upon to speak?" Severus snarled at her with all the ferocity he could muster, and suddenly her eyes looked frightened.

"No, sir," she squeaked. Severus felt his mouth twitch. Hearing her call him ' _sir_ ' only reminded him of that kiss again, of how he'd pleaded with her not to call him that.

She had tasted sweet, he remembered. Like vanilla and honey. And she had smelled like spring rain. Severus blinked hard and frowned deeply, curling his lip up in anger.

"No, Miss Granger. I did _not_ ask for your opinion. I asked Mr. Weasley, and then Mr. Malfoy. If I would like to hear you speak, you shall be appropriately notified. Until then, be silent. Twenty points from Gryffindor for your obnoxious little tantrum."

Her house-mates groaned in protest, and she looked horrified, but stayed silent. She lowered her eyes to her textbook, her lower lip protruding in a devastated sort of pout. Severus whirled away from her and resumed his pacing.

He managed to go the rest of the lesson without looking at her once, much less speaking to her, and when time was up, he strode quickly back to his desk and returned to marking fifth-year Hufflepuff papers. He pretended not to eavesdrop as the students packed up their rucksacks and filed out of the room.

"Honestly, Hermione!" Lavender Brown hissed angrily at her fellow Gryffindor, "can't you ever keep your mouth shut in lessons?"

"I'm sorry, Lavender," Hermione said softly. "If I'd known it would lose us points, I obviously wouldn't have -"

"Oh, come of it, 'Mione!" Ron Weasley whined. "You've been spouting off answers in Snape's lessons since first year. You know, not everyone's impressed that you've memorized every fact of every book ever written. Come on, Lav."

Severus felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach as he realized she was being bullied for something he'd done. But then he shook that thought away, reminding himself that she'd compromised his authority in front of the entire class. Just like she'd been doing for six ruddy years.

He dipped his quill into his pot of ink a bit too enthusiastically and wound up with a giant blob of black ink on an essay. He hissed in frustration and pointed his wand at the parchment.

" _Tergeo_." The ink puddle disappeared, and Severus snapped his wand back down upon the desk. The classroom was silent at last, and he was grateful he had it to himself for an entire two hours until his third-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws showed up.

"Professor Snape?"

His hand froze mid-word when he heard her address him in a meek little voice, and when he slowly raised his eyes, Hermione was standing a few feet in front of his desk, scuffing her foot upon the ground.

Severus said nothing to acknowledge her. He just looked at her, and as soon as his eyes met hers, he felt a painful tightening in his chest that was unfamiliar and unwanted. He sighed and frowned. What the devil was the matter with him? She was pretty, and intelligent, but what precisely had she done to make him _want_ her like this? It was unreasonable, and completely infuriating.

"I… I wanted to apologize, sir."

There it was again, that awful word ' _sir_ ,' which was perfectly fine from anyone but her. Severus felt his frown deepen as he looked back down to the fifth-year essays and muttered,

"I took the points away because you didn't have permission to speak. Next time wait to be called upon and Gryffindor might have a go at the House Cup. Anything else?"

"No, sir… it's… I meant to apologize for Saturday."

Severus felt his head snap up, and he put his quill down upon the desk. He pursed his lips anxiously and pushed the stack of parchments a few inches away from him, trying to buy himself a moment to think, and chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Saturday was…" he began, but he had no idea how to continue. Saturday was _what_ , exactly? 'A catastrophic mistake'? 'The most delicious thing that's ever happened'? Severus sighed heavily and licked his dry lips. "Saturday was not your fault, Hermione."

She lowered her face, looking ashamed and very much as though she might cry. Severus felt a yank in his chest, worried that he'd wounded her. But she took a steadying breath and nodded resolutely, and then looked up at him with a steely, steadfast gaze.

"All right, then. Shall I still come for wandless lessons tomorrow, sir?"

"I believe I requested that you not call me 'sir,'" Severus said, before it occurred to him that he was veering down a stupid path again. Hermione looked profoundly confused, and he could hardly blame her. He'd just made it seem like she should forget all about the incident where he'd kissed her, and now he was telling her again to be overly casual with her. His mixed signals were undoubtedly baffling.

He hissed in frustration. Even he had no idea what he wanted. He raked his fingers through his hair and wrenched his eyes shut as if he would find the answer in the darkness. He pinched the bridge of his nose and held his breath, and when he opened his eyes, Hermione was gone.

"So…" he heard her say, and he jolted in his seat as he realized she had stepped up beside his desk and was a foot away from him. He turned his chair to face her and glared up at her, unable to control the way his breath shook. She folded her arms over her chest and sounded indignant as she demanded, "What is this?"

"What is _what_?" Severus repeated, shaking his head in feigned confusion. Hermione looked annoyed.

"What is _this_?" She waved her hand back and forth between the two of them as if it were obvious, and she continued, her voice gradually getting more emotional until it dissolved into a crackling, quiet whisper. "What is it, _sir_ , when there are fiery glances and soft touches between two people who are supposed to be cold and distant with one another? What is it when you ask me not to call you 'sir' because it feels unsuitable in our conversations? And what is it, precisely, when I look at you and not only remember that you kissed me, and that I enjoyed it, but think that I _very much_ would like you to do it again? What is that, exactly?"

Severus felt his mouth go dry as she spoke, felt his lips part in shock. "I don't know," he answered her, shaking his head and lowering his eyes to his hands in his lap. He ground his teeth and let out a quiet, trembling breath. "Perhaps," he said, "it would be best to discontinue your wandless lessons for the time being. You are proficient enough to keep yourself safe. And we are both busy enough this term."

"Yes," Hermione nodded bitterly. "Yes, I'm sure you are very busy. I understand."

He raised his cold eyes to her and glared. She could be truly exasperating when she wanted to be. "You know full well what I mean. I am a teacher at this school. What would you have me do, little girl? Press you up against doors and kiss you at the end of every lesson? I would be sacked. I have obligations and responsibilities that extend far beyond your lessons in wandless magic." He flicked his eyes behind her to the clock. "If I'm not mistaken, Professor Vector is expecting you in Arithmancy in fifteen minutes. You'd best be going. I shall see you on Thursday for your next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson."

That last bit was to remind her that he was cancelling her wandless magic lessons, and he knew she would pick up on it. It pained him to do it, but it was the only way he would keep everything from spiraling out of control with her.

Hermione's warm brown eyes suddenly rimmed red, and Severus felt his chest clutch as he realized she was trying hard not to cry in front of him. She nodded and squared her jaw, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I'm… very grateful, sir," she murmured softly, and Severus felt guilty bile rise in his throat at the pretty little sound of her voice. "I am not as afraid now, of what they will do to us Muggle-borns. You've trained me to be able to protect myself, sir, even if they take my wand from me. I shall never be able to repay you for that kindness. I'm sorry I disrespected you in lessons today, sir."

With every word she spoke, Severus felt a boiling sort of tension rising in his chest. It was a gnashing sense of urgency, and his head started to buzz furiously when he saw her turn to walk away from him. He flew up from his chair and reached roughly for her wrist, whirling her around and hearing her gasp in alarm. She looked up at him, her kind chestnut eyes wide with surprise. Then he saw a flash of heat in them, and her tiny hands crept up to rest shakily upon his chest.

Severus' breathing was ragged and rickety as his slender hands cradled her face. Then he gave her the most stern expression he could manage and whispered, "I thought I told you not to call me ' _sir._ '"

"I'm sorry," she replied at once, her words carried by a tremulous little sigh. Then she smiled weakly and covered one of his hands with her own much smaller one. "I'll call you whatever you like."

Severus' mouth crashed down against hers. It happened before he could decide to do it, and he knew it was a foolish, reckless thing to do. But it felt undeniably _good_ to kiss her like this, because she tasted like vanilla and honey again. Her lips were soft and her mouth was welcoming, warm and wet and vibrating as she hummed happily against him.

Severus struggled to breathe as he gripped her face, trying to be gentle. She was nibbling on his bottom lip, and the sensation of that send a shockwave of desire straight to his groin. He felt his cock start to harden, much to his chagrin. It started to throb and ache and press against the placket of his trousers, especially when Hermione swept her tongue against the roof of his mouth.

Then he moved his mouth to her neck and worshipped her there, and he felt her collapse against him as her knees gave out a bit. She moaned breathily and held fast to his frock coat for support. He moved his lips back to hers and planted soft kisses there, but she was hungry and soon her tongue was delving inside his mouth again.

Without breaking the kiss, Severus stumbled backward and sat back down in his chair, lowering his hands and pulling Hermione by the waist so that she sat atop him with a knee on either side of his thighs. He wondered vaguely if she could feel his burgeoning erection beneath her, and if it would disgust her.

He got his answer when she started to roll her hips slowly against him, grinding and gyrating unevenly. Her skirt had splayed out, and Severus realized there were only her panties and his trousers between them. He stifled a groan against her lips and gripped her waist more tightly, pulling her harder against him. She yanked her mouth from him and gasped, her eyes meeting his for the first time since he began kissing her.

Severus very quickly realized he'd let everything go too far when he saw the lustful hunger in her warm brown eyes. She was staring at him like he was a juicy steak and she hadn't eaten for a week. Seeing her like that made him want to whip himself out of his trousers and pull aside the crotch of her underwear and just finish it all off, but of course that would have been the very worst thing imaginable at the moment.

"Stand up, Hermione," he whispered frantically, pulling his hands from her waist. "Please."

He saw the look of abject rejection come over her face as she sat back a little and started to rise. He realized he'd made her feel like he did not want her, and there could be nothing further from the truth than that. He let out a tortured sound, half-growl and half-moan, and reached to cradle her face in his hands again. He planted a quick kiss upon her lips and then let her go, urging her to rise. She did, her cheeks flushing dark pink as she smoothed her skirt and straightened her jumper.

"It's not that I don't want you, Hermione," Severus found himself saying as he pulled his chair back to his desk. He forced his eyes away from her. "It's that I want you far too much. It's not good for either of us. I'm not exactly sure what to do about it. I should tell you to leave this room right now and to not come here or speak to me outside of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Yes, you probably should," Hermione agreed, panting quietly, "but I don't think either of us wants that."

"No," Severus shook his head, cursing himself for his honesty. "I… It's critically important that no one finds out about… _this_. If any of my other responsibilities were compromised because of my ruddy libido…"

Hermione scoffed quietly. "Don't worry. Your secrets are all safe with me."

Severus knew she was telling the truth about that. If there was anyone in the world he knew could be trusted to hold something in confidence, it was Hermione Granger. She'd kept the secret of her Time Turner damned well in her third year. She hadn't told anyone about the ingredients she'd stolen from him to make Polyjuice Potion. Certainly not Severus himself.

"You're already late for Arithmancy," he noted with a heavy swallow, pulling out a bit of parchment and a quill. He dipped the quill into his pot of ink and wrote,

 _Please excuse Miss Granger's tardiness, as she was discussing an extra-credit assignment with me._

 _Prof. Snape_

He cast a quick drying spell upon the parchment and held it up to Hermione, who glanced at it and giggled quietly.

"Well?" she smirked.

"Well what?" Severus frowned.

"Extra credit."

Severus scowled. She _would_ want extra credit. She always did. He did not want to think about that right now. He did not want to think about Hermione Granger as a sixth-year student, or as someone he could grant extra credit to. She had been of age since September, and soon enough she wouldn't be a student at this bloody school, anyway. He shook his head at her.

"I don't give extra credit. You've been trying that for a long time."

She shrugged. "Then you should probably write a new note, don't you think? Professor Vector probably knows that you don't give extra credit, too. Seems a bit suspicious."

She had a fair point there. Severus sighed and Vanished the old note, taking out a new scrap of paper and starting over.

 _Please excuse Miss Granger's tardiness, as she was demonstrating something for me after lessons._

 _Prof. Snape_

He snapped the parchment out to Hermione, flicking his eyebrows up in a sarcastic expression. She perused the note and grinned cheekily.

"'Demonstrating,' eh? All right, then," she said, rolling the note up into a little scroll. "I'd best be going before I miss the entire Arithmancy lesson. It _is_ my favorite subject."

Severus was going to tease her about that, and he knew she was goading him to do so. But that would be an entire conversation about him being her teacher, and he didn't want that. So instead he just nodded and flashed her a crooked little smirk.

"Be here tomorrow at seven in the evening for wandless lessons," he instructed her, and she broke out into a wide grin. Severus felt his eyes go wide with surprise as she leaned down and planted a kiss firmly upon his lips.

"Goodbye, then… erm… Professor." She blushed awkwardly, still not knowing what to call him.

He wanted to hear her say his name, but it seemed as though telling her to do so would be a step toward condoning their actions.

"Go. You're very late." He reached up and cupped her cheek, squeezing gently, and then dropped his hand and forced his eyes down to his desk.

He was mildly amused when, a few hours later, he overheard his third-years on the way out of lessons muttering to one another that he had been in an alarmingly good mood that day.

But his good mood was spoiled entirely when he cornered Draco Malfoy in the Slytherin common room that night and dragged the boy to his office.

"What was the book you were reading earlier, Draco?" Severus demanded.

"What book, sir?"

"Don't play the fool with me, Draco," Severus snarled. "I saw it plain as day in my classroom. I know full well what you are planning and I am willing to help. What is the book for?"

"It's nothing to do with Dumbledore!" Draco insisted roughly. "It's just something that's going around certain circles is all."

"Show it to me," Severus snapped, his voice clipped and sharp. Draco scowled but pulled the small black book from his messenger bag.

Stamped upon the front cover in fancy gold foil letters was the title _Cleansing the Blood: Removing the Filth From Britain's Wizarding Population Once And For All_.

Feeling a sickening pang of dread in his stomach, Severus began flipping through the little book. He didn't read much, but the few paragraphs he skimmed were enough to show him that the text was an explicit blueprint for total genocide of the Muggle-born population.

He tried to keep his voice from shaking as he held the book up and asked Draco, "Who gave you this?"

"My Aunt Bellatrix," Draco sighed. "She says it's what's being planned. You ought to know all of it anyway, right? It'll be printed in wider circulation soon. As soon as Dumbledore's dead, that'll all be real. That's what she says."

Draco looked a bit peaky at his own words, a fearful sort of trepidation coming over his blue eyes and betraying the words he spoke. Severus swallowed the acid in his throat and opened the book again, turning to the first chapter.

' _Chapter One: Wand Confiscation. Mudbloods' wands are all either stolen from legitimate witches and wizards or are obtained through fallacious and nefarious means. Therefore, the very first step in the elimination of the Mudblood threat is the confiscation and destruction of Mudblood wands. This will render Mudbloods unable to practice magic, paving the way for the remainder of the processes laid forth in this book."_

* * *

" _In astronomy and navigation, there exists the concept of the_ _ **celestial sphere.**_ _This term refers to the imaginary sphere surrounding a particular body in the heavens. In centaur astronomy, the term is particularly utilized to refer to the sphere of influence a celestial body imparts. Additionally, each person has their own celestial sphere that comes into being on the day of his or her birth._

 _This may be compared to a star chart, which is used in the field of astrology, to predict personality and life events. In centaur astronomy and prophesy, the concept of the celestial sphere is used to determine the presence of transitory bodies such as comets, asteroids, and meteors in one's celestial sphere at the time of birth. A comet passing through the celestial sphere at birth, for instance, may be seen as good fortune or inauspicious (depending on location)._

 _The paths of various orbits and celestial cycles within the celestial sphere at the time of birth are also critically important within centaur astronomy to determining fate and personality. Ultimately, however, centaur astronomy puts far less stock into birth date destiny than does wizarding astrology. As the Finnish centaur astronomer Kohtalo said, 'It is not, at long great end of things, the stars that force our hands and words and deeds. They may have some measure of guidance, or of influence… but for better or worse, we are all creatures of will from the day we enter this world.'"_

 _The Stars From the Trees: Astronomical Techniques of the Centaurs. Page 520._

* * *

Hermione stepped through the door of the potions classroom and wrinkled her nose at the smell that hit her. She knew that smell instantly - bubotuber pus. The stuff reeked of petrol and had a fluorescent green color that warned potions students to stay far away, or at least to sheath their hands carefully in dragon hide gloves. Hermione headed straight for the supplies cabinet and snatched a pair, not wanting to be left with the sort that had holes in the palms. The last thing she wanted out of today's potions lesson was to be sent to the hospital wing with caustic injuries.

She began setting up a work station for herself, efficiently organizing her silver knife, mortar and pestle, scales, and cauldron.

"All right, 'Mione?"

She turned to see Harry beside her, setting up his own equipment. She gave him a friendly little smile, one that faded a bit in disapproval when she saw him pull out the Half-Blood Prince's copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ from his ruck-sack. She sighed and ignored the book, looking past Harry to where Ron and Lavender had come striding together into the room, arm-in-arm. She scowled as they set their things down together at a table. Harry followed her gaze and frowned a bit. He looked back to her and said gently,

"You two still aren't talking, then?"

"He looks to be doing just fine without me," Hermione said in a clip, using a cloth to polish her silver knife, even though it already shone like the sun. She rubbed at it furiously, then asked Harry,

"How about you and Ginny?"

"Eh?" He sounded confused. "Er… she's with Dean."

Hermione scoffed. "Hmm. Well, I reckon she fancies you more than Dean, Harry."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Yeah?"

Before Hermione could answer, Professor Slughorn cleared his throat loudly at the front of the classroom.

"Today, we shall be crafting a cream developed by the illustrious potions beautician Sacharissa Tugwood," he explained, smiling excitedly. The students all looked at one another skeptically, but Slughorn continued, "In the winter, it is common to experience quite dry skin, which may even crack and bleed. Muggle beauty products do little to remedy this situation, but Sacharissa Tugwood developed a product that not only cured winter dry skin, but beautified the skin in the process. The formula is invaluable to have on hand during this season. You shall find it in your textbooks under the name 'Frost-Abate Balm.' Please proceed; your creams shall be judged for marks at the end of the lesson. As always, do not hesitate to ask for help should you require it."

Hermione frowned and opened her textbook. She scanned through the ingredients list. There it was - bubotuber pus. Well, that explained the smell in the classroom, then. She cracked her knuckles and set to work, gathering up the calendula, almond oil, and shea butter that constituted the non-magical base of the cream. Then she went to the potions stores and obtained antimony, knotgrass, spiders, bat blood, and a phial of bubotuber pus.

She returned to her work station and prepared to make her cream, looking to her textbook for the first direction.

" _Combine one pint of almond oil with four tablespoons of shea butter; emulsify until smooth._ "

Hermione measured out her oil and began scooping the shea butter into her cauldron. She noticed Harry heaping in great amounts of the shea butter and gasped.

"Well, that's far too much, Harry!" she hissed, and he shrugged.

"The Half-Blood Prince seems to think it will turn out better with a full cup of the stuff," he insisted. Hermione scowled. She felt her cheeks go red and stared down into her cauldron. For months, Harry had been getting far better marks in Potions than her because of that damned textbook. It was cheating. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair. But whoever the devil had scrawled all over those margins had certainly known what they were up to with potions. Hermione sighed and scooped more shea butter into her cauldron, hoping Harry hadn't noticed. She read the next line of instructions in her text.

" _Crush the petals of five calendula flowers in the mortar and pestle; combine with twenty crushed spider legs and whisk briskly into the emulsified cream._ "

Hermione peaked over to Harry's textbook and noticed that no annotation had been made to this instruction, so she started ripping petals from her marigolds and ground them up. Then she ground her spider legs and mixed them with the flowers, combining it all into her cream as directed.

" _Toss in a handful of knotgrass and stir until mixture turns purple._ "

Hermione pursed her lips and picked up her knotgrass, preparing to throw it into her cauldron. Beside her, Harry cleared his throat, and Hermione glanced over to him.

"Tear off the leaves from the stems first," he whispered, cocking his head down to his book. Hermione flushed with embarrassment, but started ripping apart her knotgrass. She threw the leaves in and stirred, and the mix instantly became a lovely violet shade. Hermione smirked with satisfaction. She looked down to her textbook again.

" _Add bat's blood one drop at a time until the cream becomes blue."_

Hermione did this, and then she picked up her antimony as directed. She was puzzled, for she knew antimony to be toxic and poisonous in even the smallest quantities, and she glanced over to Harry, who was reading a long inscription in the margins of his textbook.

"It says to incant over the antimony prior to adding it to the potion," he murmured. "The Half-Blood Prince says that if you point your wand at the antimony and say, ' _venenum minuere,_ " that the antimony will not be poisonous in the final product."

Hermione frowned deeply and stared at her small, dark blue vial of antimony. She shrugged and pointed her wand at it, whispering, " _Venenum minuere_."

She felt like a horrible cheater, the worst sort of criminal, knowing that she was altering her potion through illegal means like this, but as she mixed the antimony into her cream, she at least knew the stuff wouldn't burn the skin off of her face.

The last step was to incorporate the bubotuber pus, for which both Harry and Hermione strapped on their dragon hide gloves. At last, their potions were complete, and they called over Professor Slughorn for approval. The rest of the class seemed baffled and irritated by the assignment, as per usual, and the pair of them had finished long before the others.

"Oh, my!" Professor Slughorn exclaimed happily, grinning down into Harry's and Hermione's cauldrons. "These look delightful, my dears! Did you work together?"

"Erm…" Hermione hesitated. For once, she did not want to rat out Harry for his textbook, for she'd be turning herself in, as well. "Well, you see, sir, it was Harry who suggested tempering the antimony…"

"And Hermione thought the knotgrass stems would be too fibrous for the potion," Harry insisted.

Professor Slughorn beamed at them, looking from one to the other. "Well, you're quite the pair of potions brains, aren't you? Why, together, I reckon, you could create a whole new batch of wondrous elixirs!"

Hermione winced and forced a little smile. "Well, Harry wants to be an Auror. Don't you, Harry?" She raised her eyebrows expectantly at him, and Harry nodded emphatically.

"Yes. Yes, I do." He smiled gratefully at her. "Well, Professor, if these are adequate…"

"Oh, but you must try them!" Professor Slughorn insisted, and Hermione felt her eyebrows crumple, discouraged.

Five minutes later, the eyes of the rest of the class were on her and Harry as they smeared their Frost-Abate Balms over their faces with little wooden sticks. Hermione could feel the cream soaking into her skin, but she certainly didn't feel any more beautiful.

Ron Weasley was scowling fiercely at her, and Lavender Brown was glaring daggers into her, the two of them having failed utterly to complete their own potions. Hermione sighed and rubbed in her cream reluctantly, then gasped a bit as Professor Slughorn conjured a mirror and held it up to her reflection.

"Well, Miss Granger, I should call that quite a success!"

She had to admit, the stuff worked as promised. Her skin had a bit of a preternatural glow to it, and all the minute imperfections and blemishes had gone completely. Her face had been smoothed and looked clean and fresh. Hermione cocked her eyebrows and nodded her approval.

"I have to grant it to Sacharissa Tugwood," she said to Harry with a mischievous grin, "the woman knew how to create a marketable product."

He looked better, too, she thought. His mild acne was completely gone, and his teenaged skin looked less oily and more refined. It was a subtle effect, natural and believable, but very impressive.

"Well done, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter," Professor Slughorn nodded approvingly, Vanishing the mirror. "Full marks for the both of you, of course. And you must tell your old Potions Master this afternoon when you see him just how well you've progressed in his old subject!"

He chuckled, and Hermione sighed at the mention of Professor Snape. Her last private lesson with him had proceeded with the both of them mostly managing to keep their hands off of one another, though they'd bantered amiably. She'd made good progress with wandless Shield Charms, and she'd even knocked him unconscious with a silent, wandless Stunning Spell. She'd stood over him and used her wand, murmuring a quiet ' _rennervate,_ ' and he'd smirked approvingly up at her. They'd decided after that to call it a night, and he'd given her a chaste kiss upon her forehead on her way out the door.

"Something tells me Professor Snape will have little interest in my ability to brew a proper skin cream, sir," Harry muttered as he gathered up his belongings, and Hermione stifled a laugh. Professor Slughorn nodded.

"Ah, yes. Well, you're probably right about that. Well, in any case, do wish him a happy birthday! He'll hate that even more, the sour man, eh!" Professor Slughorn laughed a bit and strode off, and Hermione felt her face twist into a horrified expression.

Beside her, Harry coughed out a little bark of a laugh. "I'd forgotten Snape's birthday was the ninth of January. Remember how third year, Lupin wished him a happy birthday probably ten times in the corridors? Never seen anyone so angry about being told 'happy birthday' before…"

Hermione felt her heart sink. She'd had no idea it was his birthday today… or, if she had, she'd forgotten. She was supposed to be at wandless lessons with him today at seven, after supper. Did he truly hate the occasion so much that she should pretend she didn't know it was his birthday? Or should she make him a little card? Or simply acknowledge it verbally at the private lesson? Or give him a kiss as a gift?

Harry talked about Quidditch on the way to lunch, and Hermione occasionally said something in response, but she wasn't listening. All she could think about was _him_ , and how it was his birthday, and what on Earth she was supposed to do about that.

When Hermione swept into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, most of the other sixth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins were already there, and the room was quietly buzzing with conversation. She glanced up to the front of the room, where Professor Snape was reading from a thick book. He was brushing the pad of his thumb absently over his bottom lip, and the sight sent a skewer of sudden want through Hermione's body. She knew what those lips tasted like - savory and sweet all at once, a low note of cinnamon.

She huffed in frustration and slammed her rucksack down upon her usual desk, and Snape's face snapped up in alarm. His dark eyes met hers and glowered a bit, flicking wordlessly back down to his book. Hermione gnashed her teeth, and then from beside her she heard Draco Malfoy's oily voice call,

"Oi! Nice work in Potions today, Granger."

She felt a twinge of loathing come over her as he spoke, and she steeled herself as she turned to him. Licking her lips and cocking her head with a bit of a temper, Hermione retorted,

"Thank you, Draco. Professor Slughorn seemed pleased enough with my finished product."

"Yeah, well… 's gonna take a lot more than some lotion to make _you_ pretty, Granger." Gregory Goyle let out a vicious snort and elbowed his roly-poly sidekick, Vincent Crabbe. "Slather some goo on the face, but it's still a Mudblood, innit?"

Hermione felt her cheeks flush red with rage and humiliation as the two Slytherin brutes stepped closer to her. She glanced behind her quickly to see that her fellow Gryffindors were paying no attention to the exchange; they were all engaged in their own conversations. She gulped heavily and turned back to Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy. She prepared to respond angrily to them, but then Goyle sneered,

"Or maybe Granger was just smearing the wrong white cream on her face. I could help you with that, couldn't I?"

" _Mr. Goyle!_ "

Hermione's heart was still pounding with anger, fear, and disgust when her mind registered the sound of Snape's voice snapping above them. She looked up at him, trying to keep angry tears from working their way down her cheeks. Professor Snape was glaring down at Gregory Goyle with more cold outrage in his black eyes than Hermione had ever seen, and was breathing slowly but shakily through his prominent nose. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

"Thirty points from Slytherin for your disgusting comments, Mr. Goyle, and you shall have detention this Friday with Mr. Filch."

Goyle looked scandalized. It was true, Hermione thought, that she'd never once seen Snape deduct points from his own house, but this was a truly detestable offense. Goyle looked as though he were going to protest, but Professor Snape caustically cut in,

"Sit down, Mr. Goyle. _Now_. You too, Mr. Malfoy; Mr. Crabbe. Not a word out of any of any of you for the remainder of the lesson."

The three Slytherins skulked away, grumbling among themselves, and Hermione stood alone trying not to hyperventilate. She had been absolutely disgusted by Goyle's comment. It had felt violating, in a way. She resolved to move beyond the hatefulness, but after a long moment, realized she was still glued to her place when she heard Professor Snape say gently,

"Miss Granger…"

She snapped her head up to him. He was staring down at her, an expression of sorrow in his dark eyes. Hermione glanced around; could anyone else see how he was looking at her? But all of the other students were laughing quietly and conversing, waiting for the lesson to begin. She stared back up into Professor Snape's face and wished they were alone so that she could embrace him. That would have felt nice right about then, she reckoned.

He pinched his lips tightly, regretfully, as if he were thinking something similar. Then he lowered his eyes to the floor and said quietly, "Take your seat, Miss Granger."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Dinner in the Great Hall passed uneventfully enough, with Hermione munching silently on her steak and kidney pie while she flipped aimlessly through a chapter on Peruvian Vipertooth antivenom, until -

"Hermione?"

She raised her head mid-bite to see Ginny Weasley looking at her expectantly, and quickly realized she'd ignored a question. Hermione swallowed heavily and said,

"I'm sorry, Ginny… what?"

Ginny frowned. "Luna and I were going to practice some baking charms after dinner… we thought you might care to join us?"

"Oh… erm." Hermione stared down at her steak and kidney pie. She considered saying she would be too full for baked goods, but decided to be as honest as possible. "Erm, well… it's just that I've started some extra lessons over the holidays, and so I'm going to be a bit busy a few days a week. I'm sorry, Ginny."

"Extra lessons?" Beside her, Harry looked confused. Hermione glared at him. She knew that Harry was doing some 'lessons' of his own with Professor Dumbledore, and she thought he ought to know better than to pry into what she was doing. She shot him a look that she hoped would shut him up, but Harry pressed, "What extra lessons?"

Hermione sighed and shifted awkwardly in her seat. "It's just some extra work for Defense Against the Dark Arts…" she mumbled. Harry looked scandalized.

"You're doing extra work with _Snape_?" He wrinkled his face in horror. Hermione crumpled her eyebrows and scowled.

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry. Yes. There is far more to defending oneself against a Death Eater than can be learnt in the basic curriculum, you know," she said bitingly. Harry flicked his eyebrows up.

"All right, then," he sighed bitterly. He did not trust Snape, Hermione knew. He did not need to remind her of that, but he raised his goblet of pumpkin juice in a mock toast to her. "Have fun with _Professor_ Snape."

Hermione realized it was nearly seven and that she was due for her lessons any minute now anyway, and she gathered up her rucksack and left her friends sitting baffled at the Gryffindor tables. She walked briskly from the Great Hall and made her way up to the third floor, feeling an enormous sense of relief when she flung open the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and saw him standing in front of the dark window, staring outside into the night.

"Good evening," she murmured quietly, shutting the door behind her. He did not look over to her, but she saw his black wand flick a bit toward the door, and behind her she heard a soft _click_ as the doors locked. Hermione felt a little nervous shiver as she realized they were in here alone, with everyone else locked out.

"I nearly lost my temper this afternoon with Gregory Goyle," Professor Snape said suddenly, tipping his chin away from Hermione as she took a few steps closer to him. "I have not felt so angry or disgusted in a very long time."

"I'm sure that's an exaggeration," Hermione murmured soothingly, for she thought he had probably seen all sorts of enraging and vile things as a spy for Dumbledore. But he shook his head insistently. "I heard him make that revolting comment and I felt a possessive rage boil up inside of me. I wanted to kill him."

Hermione felt unnerved then, because he spoke the words with an otherworldly composure, as though he were simply informing of a fact. She frowned and took a step back, away from him. He raised his face slowly to her.

"I've frightened you," he mumbled self-consciously. "I'm sorry."

"No…" Hermione insisted, shaking her head, though of course he had a bit. She sighed heavily. "I'm very tired, Professor. It's been a long, difficult day for me. I'm not sure how much energy I shall be able to summon up. Must we do wandless lessons tonight?"

He stared at her for a solid beat, and she thought he looked very fatigued, as well. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, as if he'd gone a night or two without any sleep. He finally smirked and reluctantly asked, "How would you rather spend your evening, if not hexing me and shielding yourself from my spells?"

"Well…" Hermione felt a quake of uncertainty pass through her chest as she tried to make herself look brave and assured. She took two falsely confident steps toward him, attempting to look smooth and alluring as she did. "It _is_ your birthday, is it not?"

She curled up one corner of her lips and cocked one eyebrow at him in friendly mockery, and she reached out her hands toward his frock coat. She brushed her fingertips slowly over the tiny buttons there, one at a time, wondering what it would be like to slowly undo them. That thought sent a tremor of desire straight to her core, and she felt her lips part as she stared up at his dark eyes.

He frowned. "Yes," he admitted. "It is my birthday. Who told you?"

"Professor Slughorn," Hermione grinned. She felt Snape's slender hands close around her waist, and she gasped softly in contented surprise.

"That old bastard," Snape snarled, lowering his face slowly until he was only an inch or two from Hermione. She felt her breath shaking furiously.

 _Kiss me,_ she begged him mentally, her insides on fire and screaming for him to do it. _Kiss me, please…_

"Nobody was supposed to know," Professor Snape continued, and he raised one of his hands to cradle Hermione's cheek in his palm, grazing his rough thumb along her bottom lip. Hermione hissed and pressed her chest against him, her small breasts smashing against the top of his stomach as she tried everything she could to make contact with him. There was a warm, insistent throbbing between her legs, and she shifted on her feet to try to appease it.

"I wanted to get you a gift," Hermione whispered, her lips less than an inch from his. Her words were frantic now, for she was desperate with want. "But I only found out it was your birthday today. I was going to Transfigure you something, but I didn't know what you would want…"

"Mmm… I don't need a present, you silly girl. I'm not a child." His voice vibrated against her mouth as he maintained the half-inch distance between them. He stroked her cheek with his left hand and let his right hand caress her waist carefully. Hermione's entire body was silently pleading with him to touch her properly, and so Hermione tried to steady her voice as she looked into his eyes and murmured,

"Well, good, because I didn't Transfigure you anything, after all. But I did bring you something I hope very much you'll enjoy."

His lips closed the gap to hers and were actually brushing right up against her mouth as he asked, "What did you bring me, Hermione?"

She shut her eyes and silently hoped he would not reject her as she shakily reached for the wrist that was resting on her waist. She pulled it swiftly beneath the hem of her skirt and guided his hand under the hem of her cotton panties, pushing the pads of his fingers against her drenched entrance.

 _Please don't turn me away_ , she begged him in her head, and then she tried not to let her knees buckle as her body registered the feel of his long, slender fingers around her folds.

He let out a tortured sort of sound against her mouth, taken aback by what she'd done. She worried he would yank his hand from her body and send her away for being a harlot, and she squeezed her eyes shut in fear. But then he started kissing her fiercely and used his left hand to cradle her shoulders.

Hermione felt him sweeping the pads of his fingers around the outside of her sex, felt how wet and warm she'd become for him, and she moaned wantonly into his mouth. He suddenly whirled her around to face away from him, and Hermione realized he could touch her more effectively by reaching around her body. He kissed her neck instead of her mouth, leaning down to nip and suck gently at the skin beneath her ear. It sent electrical shocks down Hermione's spine, and she struggled to stay quiet.

" _Muffliato_ ," she heard him mutter distantly, and she focused on how he was kissing her. It was exquisite; it was divine. Her head was throbbing and buzzing and it was as though she were floating. Her hips were bucking against his hand, which was gliding expertly around her folds as though his fingers were ballet dancers who had been perfectly choreographed.

Hermione felt herself climbing the sort of peak she knew she should not… not here, not with him… but she was too far gone. She reached her hands up to tangle her fingers in his hair, and she started whispering nonsense as his erection pressed into her back.

Then she whispered it - one word - and her eyes flew open in shock and shame.

" _Severus…_ "

His mouth stilled on her neck, and his fingers ceased moving around her entrance. Hermione was suddenly terrified, thinking she'd ruined everything. But then he spun her back around to face him, and she looked up into his face and saw a hunger in his eyes unlike anything she had ever seen before. His eyes were almost terrifyingly ravenous, and Hermione felt her mouth drop open in alarm. She suddenly found herself desperate to tear his frock coat from his chest. She moaned softly, frustrated.

He ripped a chair out from a desk and sat in down in it, yanking fiercely upon Hermione's wrists until she straddled him. She moaned quietly again, twisting her eyes shut in desperation when she felt the sharp bulge of his erection between her legs. She instinctively began to roll her hips on him, grinding against his trousers, and knew that she would hurtle herself over her own peak awfully quickly like this. She ground faster, clenching her eyes more tightly shut. If she'd had any idea that simply _saying his name_ could do this to him...

"Look at me," he huffed, sounding angry. Hermione forced her eyes open and stared into his black eyes, feeling the tight grip of his hands on her wrists. "Say it again," he demanded through his clenched teeth.

Hermione licked her dry lips and nodded. "Severus…"

He grunted at the sound of his name and bucked his hips up against her roughly. Hermione cried out when she felt him push his erection against her. His hands released her wrists and moved to clutched fiercely at her thin waist, which he drove down onto his hips.

"Say it again," he growled once more.

Hermione could scarcely breathe, so she clutched at his sweat-slicked cheek and moved her lips to his ear. "Severus," she whispered shakily, "I just… wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Severus… ungh… oh, Severus, I'm going to…"

The friction had become far too much, and Hermione tumbled off of the cliff she'd been climbing, feeling her muscles clenching and her head buzzing and her body flushing as she tried to catch her breath. Her panties were instantly soaked, and she knew his trousers would be damp from her straddling him. She thought perhaps he wouldn't mind.

With a wild thought racing through her head, Hermione moved her mouth from his ear to his neck and lathed her tongue ferociously, sucking and nibbling and moaning like a feral little animal. She reached down between them and pawed against the tented material of his trousers, stroking him roughly through the wool. He was panting and gasping, whispering her name every now and then, and finally he said nothing at all and bucked his hips once or twice. His hands balled into fists on her waist and she could hear his teeth grinding tightly, a small groan ripping itself from his throat, and then he slumped silently against the chair.

Hermione had recovered herself by that point, and she closed her eyes and called forth a bit of magic from the bottom of her throat, pulling it out of her body and sending it from her hand as she directed it at his pants and whispered, " _Tergeo."_

Professor Snape chuckled darkly at her as she climbed rather awkwardly off of him. "Is that the extent of your wandless magic practice for today?" he asked tersely.

Hermione sighed at him with a petulant smirk. She shook her head and raised her hand back up to the air, repeating the act of summoning wandless magic from the core of her throat.

" _Fulgendum rosea!_ " she exclaimed with cheeky glee, casting her arm in an extravagant arc. Bright pink glitter burst forth from her hand in a jubilant explosion, landing all over the wooden floorboards of the classroom. Hermione smirked in self-satisfaction while Severus crossed his arms where he sat and pretended to be very angry with the mess.

She considered leaving it for him to clean up, but thought that wouldn't be a very good present, so she grabbed her wand and cast a wordless scouring charm around until the floorboards were spotless again and not one piece of pink glitter was left.

Hermione grabbed her knapsack and smiled serenely at him as he rose from his chair and put his hands gently upon her shoulders.

"Happy birthday, then," she mumbled. "Sorry for… well, might have been a bit forward with my gift." Her cheeks colored and she lowered her eyes.

Severus scoffed. "I daresay I've never received a birthday gift quite like that before. If I had, perhaps I wouldn't mind Professor Slughorn going and spouting off about what day it is."

"Well… as it happens, I'm glad he mentioned it." Hermione smiled shyly up into his dark eyes and felt a shudder of happiness when he pressed his lips softly against hers.

"As am I, Miss Granger."

"Hermione."

He smirked at the firm way she said it, and he gave her a conciliatory little nod. "Hermione."

* * *

"Severus, can you explain to me how it is that Albus Dumbledore is still alive?"

Lord Voldemort shot Severus a questioning glare as he stroked the slowly bobbing head of his loyal snake, Nagini. Severus gulped, trying not to display an ounce of nervousness, and met the reptilian gaze of the dark wizard.

"My Lord, from what I understand, the mead which poisoned the Weasley boy was intended to be gifted to Albus Dumbledore. It was given to Horace Slughorn by Madam Rosmerta… and to her by Draco Malfoy. All of this sounds rather circuitous, I know -"

"It sounds _bungled_!" Voldemort snapped suddenly, and a sharp breath hissed through the holes where his nose should have been. He wrinkled his mouth up in an ugly sneer. "It sounds pitiful. What exactly is your son doing, Narcissa? Is there an auspicious alignment of the planets he's waiting on?"

No one laughed at the mockery as Voldemort turned his penetrating glower toward Narcissa Malfoy. Severus nearly felt sorry for the woman as her eyes suddenly welled with tears beyond her control. She shook her head minutely.

"No… of course not, My Lord," she whispered fearfully. "I'm sure Draco is doing everything he can. I'm very sorry that he has not yet succeeded; I'm sure with just a bit more time -"

" _Time!_ If there is one thing we are all lacking… it is _time_." Voldemort sighed heavily and petted Nagini's head again. "Narcissa, your family has been… displeasing to me as of late. Stand up, witch."

Narcissa hesitated for the briefest of moments, but then obediently pushed her chair away from the dining room table and rose shakily, folding her hands in front of her elegant emerald robes. She pinched her lips in a frightened little frown.

"Severus," Voldemort said smoothly, not bothering to look away from Narcissa, "I would like for you to report to Draco what the consequences are of his incompetence. Tell him what exactly what it means to fail me for so long… will you? _Crucio!_ "

Severus winced as Voldemort jabbed his wand in the air toward Narcissa Malfoy, who crumpled to her knees the instant that a red web of light ensnared her form. She shrieked ungracefully as the agonizing pain took hold, twitching and writhing as she was tortured.

Voldemort showed no emotion whatsoever for a solid ten minutes, looking bored after a while. Severus began to feel nauseated, for he had known Narcissa for a very long time indeed. He remembered visiting her in the days immediately after Draco was born, before the end of the first war. She had been radiant in the glow of new motherhood, content and proud and young.

And now, here she was, screaming in pain for Draco again - not as she birthed him, but because he had failed their master. Severus blinked hard and sighed lightly, waiting for it all to end. Finally, Voldemort flicked his wand away and said quietly,

"Stand up, Narcissa."

She moaned softly, her voice muffled by the rug, and Severus wanted very much to go help her off the ground. But he resolutely stayed sitting where he was, and after a great long while, Narcissa managed to crawl back into her chair. Her face was streaked with black where her tears had smeared her mascara, and her hair was a hideous mess. She swiped at her cheeks and tried in vain to primp herself, sniffling meekly and avoiding the gaze of anyone at the table.

"Severus," Voldemort said again, and Severus turned to face him, raising his eyebrows expectantly. "Tell Draco not to demonstrate such ineptitude in his next attempt. I'm sure he would feel awful about being responsible for his mother's suffering."

Severus nodded, feeling his stomach twist with disgust. "I will be certain to pass along the message, My Lord."

* * *

It was nearly eight o'clock at night on the eighth of March when Severus stormed from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He'd been impatiently waiting for Hermione for an hour; their wandless magic lessons always began promptly at seven. For the past two months, their lessons had been about nothing but the progression of her magical prowess. Severus had been determined to put aside his lust for her, realizing after a few more meetings with the Dark Lord that her safety was paramount.

That was not to say he hadn't enjoyed her 'birthday present'... oh, he _had_ enjoyed that quite a bit. They'd not spoken about it since, but had exchanged a chaste kiss now and then at the beginning or end of a lesson. They spoke casually with one another, using first names when they were alone and discussing trivial issues in a friendly tone.

There seemed to have been an unspoken devolution in the formality of their relationship, at the very least. Of course, during the daytime he was still her professor and she was simply one of the sixth-year Gryffindors. But when they were practicing wandless work, she was 'Hermione' to him, and he was 'Severus' to her, and she had even managed to make him genuinely smile at her once or twice.

Oddly, Dumbledore had never once asked Severus about Hermione, though of course Severus was certain the old wizard was aware there were private lessons happening. Dumbledore knew every blasted thing that went on at Hogwarts. There was no chance that there had been private meetings between Severus and Hermione happening for months without Dumbledore knowing about it. But Albus never said a word, and Severus never brought it up.

But tonight, Severus found himself irritated with her. Who did this little girl think she was, exactly, making him stand around like a fool for over an hour in a dark, empty classroom waiting for her? He threw open the door and stormed out into the corridor, his black robe fluttering behind him as he pattered up a winding staircase for three storeys until he reached the landing that led to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

Severus huffed out an impatient sigh; the Fat Lady was completely ignoring him, plucking absently at a mandolin she clearly had no idea how to play. She hummed quietly, very out of tune, and only looked up in her painting when Severus cleared his throat loudly.

"Good evening, Professor," she said sharply. "You shall need the password if you intend to enter Gryffindor Tower."

"I am a teacher here," Severus reminded her, though of course he would have been horrified if Minerva had tried to go into the Slytherin common room. Sure enough, the Fat Lady shrugged nonchalantly.

"Password, please…" she mumbled, turning back to her mandolin.

Severus growled in frustration. "I don't know… ' _pinguitude_.'"

The Fat Lady scowled at him, offended. "That is incorrect," she snapped. "Please go away. Back to the dungeons with you."

Severus was about to start an argument with her, but then Dennis Creevey, a third-year Gryffindor, stepped up to the landing and stared at Severus as though he had four heads.

"Erm… good evening, sir," the boy stammered awkwardly. "Welcome to Gryffindor Tower?"

"Is that a question, Mr. Creevey?" Severus sneered. Then, realizing he could use the younger Creevey to his advantage, he rolled his eyes and said, "I want you to go into the common room and find Miss Granger. Tell her she is late for the meeting she arranged with me and that I need her to come out here at once."

" _Hermione_ Granger, sir?" Dennis Creevey looked as though he were shaking in his loafers. Severus rolled his eyes again and considered a snarky question about how many 'Grangers' there could possibly be in Gryffindor, but he just nodded curtly. Dennis Creevey turned to the Fat Lady.

"Password?" she demanded lightly.

"' _Comity_ ,'" Dennis Creevey said automatically, and the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open immediately. Severus sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, pacing anxiously upon the landing.

Perhaps she had a good excuse for being late, he considered. After all, earlier today Harry Potter had found his skull on the receiving end of a rogue bludger after Cormac McLaggen had acted the fool in a Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. Now Potter had joined Weasley in the hospital wing. That had probably distracted Hermione a great deal, Severus considered. Perhaps it had been unreasonable of him to expect her to show up for a lesson with him when both of her best friends (he sneered at the thought of that) were laid up in the infirmary.

He was contemplating leaving when the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open again and Hermione came stumbling through the round entrance to the Gryffindor common room. She was wearing her worn-out denims, a burgundy zippered sweatshirt, and old trainers. Her hair was tied up into a high, wavy ponytail, and her lips shone with a bit of clear gloss. Severus frowned. Of course she wasn't wearing her formal uniform; it was a Saturday. Still… it made it harder to see her as a student when she was dressed like this.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione hissed as the portrait swung closed. Then, realizing the Fat Lady was staring straight at her, she added, " _sir_."

He flicked his eyes from the wall of judgmental painted dead people back to Hermione and muttered, "Walk with me, if you please, Miss Granger."

They set off down the corridor and made their way down a few flights of stairs without speaking a word. Along the way, they passed Filius Flitwick, who said jovially,

"Good evening, Professor Snape; Miss Granger." There was no note of suspicion in the voice of the little Charms instructor, much to Severus' relief.

"Hello, sir," Hermione acknowledged, and Severus nodded brusquely, continuing on his way.

Severus continued down a staircase that wound beyond the second floor, then the first. Behind him, Hermione asked,

"Where are we going?"

"To my office in the dungeons," Severus answered simply, and she did not protest.

Their lessons up to this point had all taken place in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. There, Hermione had shown Severus that she was able to block anything he could throw at her - jinxes of all kinds, hexes, and even mild curses designed to cause discomfort and pain - with no problem whatsoever. She could cast rapid-fire spells without depending on spoken incantations, without needing a wand. She had become powerful, Severus knew. She would be safe once Severus performed the terrible deed he'd sworn to do. Once everything turned into a nightmare for Muggle-borns… she would be safe.

Knowing that fact was the only thing that allowed him to sleep at night. Once, perhaps, he would not have cared very much what happened to Hermione Granger once there were laws passed against Muggle-borns. But for some inexplicable reason, he now cared _very much_ what happened to her. If he failed in every other regard, at the very least Severus knew he had trained Hermione to save her own skin.

Severus chewed his lip anxiously as he stalked down the Potions corridor, his hand trembling a bit as he pointed his wand at his office door and unwarded it. The door clicked and swung open gently, allowing him entrance. He pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped inside, sweeping his wand around to light the sconces upon the walls. He sank into the leather chair behind his desk with a low sigh, gesturing for Hermione to sit across from him. She frowned and looked perplexed, but did as he bid her.

"Severus?" she asked in a whisper, "what's wrong?"

He felt an odd little stab of pain in his sternum at the sound of his given name, and he cleared his throat roughly.

"I don't much care why it is that you didn't come to the third floor at seven o'clock, Hermione," Severus began. "Perhaps you have a very good reason; perhaps you simply forgot. Perhaps you were snogging some boy your own age, or writing an essay. I have no idea, and it is not really my business anyway."

He paused and looked up to her. Her pretty little mouth had pursed into an 'o' of confusion, and her chestnut eyes stared at him with a question gleaming in them. Severus swallowed heavily, knowing that there was much he wanted to tell her and very little he could.

"I have no desire to practice shield charms with you tonight, Hermione. You'll need them… that's certainly true. You've become excellent at them. I'm very proud of everything you have accomplished over the past ten weeks in your lessons."

Her expression turned frightened then, and Severus knew it was because he'd just explicitly complimented her work. He never complimented students, and Hermione knew that better than anybody. It probably was terrifying to hear the voice of Severus Snape say he 'proud' of anything or anyone. But he continued,

"Soon… I have no idea what day, or month… but soon… I shall be required to do something that will make you believe I am truly a terrible person. And, by doing it, I _will_ be a terrible person. You will hate me for it. You will never want to speak to me or see me again, and I shall not blame you a bit for that."

He stared down at his hands and pretended that his thumbnail was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. Swallowing heavily and ignoring the way his heart was trying to thump its way out of his chest, Severus said,

"As you can imagine, I simply can not say what it is that I will have to do. You are an intelligent young woman and you know why certain things must be kept secret. All I can tell you is that I have prepared you the best I possibly could so that you will be able to stay alive, because with all my being, _I want you to stay alive._ "

He kept staring at his fingernails, but he felt his breath start to shake with unwanted emotion. He had not expected this one-sided conversation to go quite like this; he had not expected there to be a painful ache in his chest, nor for his ears to go hot as he spoke.

Severus could not bring himself to look at Hermione, but her prolonged silence told him that she was absorbing and considering every word he was saying. He pulled the words from his swimming mind and said,

"In the months ahead, people will call you dreadful things. They will try to kill you for ridiculous reasons, not the least of which is your so-called 'blood status.' Then, of course, there will be your association with Potter. It will be a sincere trial for you to stay alive, Hermione. But you are the most capable soldier in all of this, and I mean that very sincerely. If there is anyone I know who can survive on sheer ability, it is you. You will need to do that, soon enough."

He finally forced his eyes up to hers, and he saw that she was silently crying, staring right at him with tears worming their way down her pretty cheeks. Severus felt a painful stab in his gut when he saw her face; he did not at all like the sight of her weeping. He flicked his eyes away from her and ground his teeth together. He thought for a moment about whether or not he should say the next thing that came into his mind. It would likely make him look quite a fool, he thought. But before he could talk himself out of it, Severus murmured,

"I believe it is rather obvious, Hermione, that I have grown quite fond of you. You are very much more than an apprentice of wandless magic to me. I am not quite certain of _what_ you are… what you mean… to me. I don't think it much matters, ultimately. I know that I find you to be very beautiful, and very kind. I know that I find you to have an amiable sense of humor, and that your intelligence and abilities are transcendent. I know that you haunt my consciousness, both when I sleep and when I am awake. I know that being around you makes me feel comfortable, and I that I can not say the same for any other living person."

He went silent then, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. He did not want to look at Hermione, for he was terrified that he would see distaste and rejection in her pretty brown eyes. But he heard her chair scrape backward upon the stone floor, and then the soft patter of her footfalls as she stepped around his desk. Then she was standing beside him and he found himself staring at the zipper of her burgundy hooded sweatshirt. He forced his eyes up to her face, where she was swiping tears roughly from her eyes.

"I know that whatever you're going to do, it will be the right thing… no matter how it looks," she mumbled, her voice cracking in the hollow space of Severus' office. She sniffed a bit and said bravely, "I have faith in your honor, Severus."

She bent down and placed a gentle kiss upon his forehead, and Severus let his eyelids shut as he took in the smell of her - daisies and fresh rain - and the feel of her soft, small hand in his hair.

"You will despise me," he promised. "As will everyone with a modicum of decency. I only hope you will remember that I cared very much for you, Hermione."

"Don't speak as though you are dying," she whispered fervently, and she sounded afraid all of a sudden.

For all she knew, Severus _was_ dying. For all Severus knew, he would have to murder Albus Dumbledore that very night. He truly had no notion of when any of the fateful events would fall into line. All he knew was that the Dark Lord was growing dangerously impatient with Draco. That was why he was warning Hermione now that _this_ \- this time in which she saw him as a benevolent tutor - would be over very soon.

"I think you must be very brave," Hermione said suddenly, "to agree to whatever it is you've agreed to do. If you know you will be reviled for doing it. I am proud to know you, Severus Snape. I am grateful… that we've got you."

Severus opened his eyes, feeling confused by her words. _Brave?_ How could she call him 'brave'? Why wasn't she insisting he refuse Dark orders? Why wasn't she begging him to run away, or to figure out a different plan?

Because she was Hermione bloody Granger, that was why, he realized. Because she was intelligent enough to realize that if Severus had resigned himself to _this_ plan, whatever it was, then it must be an inevitable series of actions that would come to pass. She would not protest because she was smart enough to know it would be useless. Instead, she was climbing silently into Severus' lap and slithering her arms around his neck.

"But you ought to know," she murmured, moving her lips to rest beside Severus' cheek, "now that you've told me all this… I shall never, ever despise you. Not ever. I've grown very fond of you, as well… I believe it is rather obvious."

Her words sent a sudden fire through Severus' veins that settled straight in his groin, and his hands flew to her waist before he knew what he was doing. Then her mouth was on his neck, sucking gently on the sensitive skin beneath his ear, and Severus heard a raw groan rip itself from his chest. His hands tightened on her waist and drove her against him, and then his cock twitched and grew as Severus wondered what it would feel like to touch her other places.

She was still kissing his neck, her mouth moving to lick his Adam's apple. _Do not stop, Hermione… whatever you do, just don't take your mouth from me._ He wanted to shout at her to keep kissing him there, for her mouth was dragging fire over his excited skin, but all he could do was choke out her name every now and then. He let his left hand start to drift upward, beneath the hem of her sweatshirt and the tank top underneath. He was tentative, for he'd not asked permission to touch her like this. His rough fingertips drifted around her smooth, flat belly, creeping upward hesitantly. As if to answer his unasked question, Hermione snatched at his wrist. She dragged his hand upward and planted his palm firmly upon her breast, sighing contentedly against his throat when he squeezed gently.

Severus squeezed his eyes shut as his hand squirmed beneath her bra, making contact with the pillowy flesh of her small, round breast. His thumb flicked over her nipple, and it peaked in response. His cock was protesting fiercely in his trousers, throbbing insistently as Hermione rocked gently against him. He felt a sudden need to kiss her properly, and he tipped his chin and used his free hand to move her face toward him.

When her mouth met his, heat blasted through him as though he'd suddenly caught fire. His cock was almost painfully erect now, pushing so urgently against Hermione's denims that Severus was nervous he was going to finish right then and there. He kissed Hermione fiercely, worrying absently that he was hurting her mouth as he sucked on her lip and drove his tongue into her mouth. She moaned almost continuously against the kiss, her breath coming shakily through her nose.

Severus only registered that she had managed to unbutton his frock coat when her small hands pushed the heavy black jacket off of his shoulders. Severus broke their kiss and helped her with his sleeves before wriggling out of the coat.

 _You absolutely should not be disrobing in front of Hermione Granger_ , a voice in his head scolded him sharply. But Severus found himself disinclined to protest as Hermione's lithe little fingers set to work on his crisp white dress shirt. He watched her sit back and work, her chestnut eyes studying the small buttons with a voracious hunger as she quickly undid them. Severus pushed his hips up a bit against her as she worked, wanting more than anything to satisfy the aching lust that was pulsing in his groin. His hands coursed aimlessly around her torso, relishing the soft curves of her feminine form.

Then his shirt was open and her hands were drifting around the bare skin of his chest, and Severus shut his eyes tightly against the feel of her soft hands. She was abruptly everywhere on him - rolling her hips on his throbbing groin, curling her fingers deliciously against his naked torso, kissing him urgently while she mewled and sighed. It was far too much and not nearly enough, and a sudden, clear image invaded Severus' consciousness. He saw himself tearing off her clothes and plunging himself into her, pounding and grinding and spilling himself inside of her.

With an abrupt clarity of vision, Severus realized that Hermione was almost certainly a virgin, and so such a fantasy was a terrible thing for him to want. And, right now, they were hurtling awfully close to that fantasy becoming an uncontrolled reality.

Severus gritted his teeth and planted his hands on Hermione's waist, yanking her off of his groin and away from his chest as he broke their kiss. He panted and struggled to silence the buzzing in his head.

"Hermione," he growled, "you need to leave. _Right now_."

She stared at him, her chestnut eyes shining with a mixture of arousal and hurt feelings. She swiped at her mouth and rubbed away his saliva, and she awkwardly climbed off of his lap. She straightened her bra and sweatshirt and glanced down at Severus' very prominent erection. Severus felt his cheeks color with humiliation as he sat up in his chair and tried to catch his breath.

"Are you angry with me?" Hermione asked. Severus shook his head.

"I do not feel at all in control of myself with you at the moment," he admitted hoarsely, "and I do not wish to do anything to you that you will regret... that you will hate me for. Please, Hermione, go back to Gryffindor Tower."

"But -"

 _"Right now_ , Hermione." Severus shut his eyes as he pleaded with her. That image had come to his head again, at once awful and delightful. He was taking her, in his mind, claiming her for his own. He knew if she stayed, things would go far beyond her taking off his shirt and grinding herself against him. She finally listened, apparently, because Severus heard the door of his office open and shut quietly. When he opened his eyes again, she was gone.

Severus felt his breath shaking in his throat, and he hated himself more than ever as his hands snuck beneath his desk and unbuttoned his trousers. His right hand pulled his throbbing, aching cock from its fabric prison, and he gasped when he touched himself, for he'd been hard for so long now that he nearly spilled himself on contact.

He closed his eyes again and let himself think of her. She wasn't here for him to spoil, for him to ruin and hurt and betray. In his mind, it wouldn't matter if he took things too far, so he let himself do as he pleased. He saw himself peeling off her burgundy sweatshirt, the one she'd just had on. He imagined sucking roughly on her breast, the one he'd fondled not fifteen minutes earlier. She moaned as he nibbled at her breast, in his mind. It wasn't hard to imagine that moan; she had just made the sound five minutes ago.

Severus felt his cock firm up in his hand, felt his balls draw up to his body, and he knew he was close. His breath hitched in his chest as he imagined her asking him to make love to her, as he pictured himself thrusting roughly into her and staring into her chestnut eyes while he pushed and shoved and grunted. She would whisper his name, over and over, and then she would come for him like the good girl she was. Severus would grasp her hip with one hand and tangle the other in her hair, and he would scold her to look at him as he made love to her.

"Ungh... Hermione..."

Severus yanked his hand down to the base of his cock and bucked his hips up roughly in blissful agony, wrenching his eyes shut tightly as his seed erupted in uneven stream and made a sticky mess all over his trousers and hand. He panted while his ears rang and his chest pounded and his blood boiled with pleasure, and then he crashed back to reality.

He cleaned himself up with a muttered spell and buttoned himself back into his clothes. Then he reminded himself that someday, sooner rather than later, he would become a murderer, and Hermione Granger would want nothing to do with him. And the vision of him making love to her would remain nothing but a fantasy to which he could touch himself, alone, in a cold and empty room.

* * *

Hermione was feeling more than a little irritated when she made her way to wandless lessons on the eighteenth of March. Severus had been avoiding her for the past ten days, making excuse after excuse why their lessons couldn't take place.

"I have several second-year Gryffindors serving detention tomorrow evening," he'd drawled after Defense Against the Dark Arts the previous Monday, "so I shall be unable to tutor you. My apologies." Hermione had scowled and nodded and silently walked out of the classroom.

Then, that Thursday, he had seen her in passing in the corridor and mumbled something about needing to make a few medicinal potions for Madam Pomfrey that night. Hermione had cocked an eyebrow cheekily at him and asked if she might be able to help. "No," Severus had insisted, shaking his head firmly. "You should play some wizards' chess with Weasley or… ask Miss Lovegood to tell you about heliopaths. Good evening."

He had seemed sorely distracted, and that Saturday Hermione had been unable to find him at all. At Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons on Monday, the seventeenth, Severus had been particularly cantankerous with Harry and Ron, and had sneered at a question Seamus Finnegan had posed about Inferi and ghosts.

Now, Hermione stormed toward the classroom, determined to confront him and demand that he speak with her properly. It was only a quarter to seven, but she felt certain he would be in the classroom, as he so often was. As she neared the doors in the third-floor corridor, she felt her ears fill with an odd buzzing sensation. She thought there must have been a silencing charm cast upon the area, so she waved her wand about and whispered,

" _Finite incantatem._ "

The buzzing in her ears abated, and she stepped cautiously and quietly toward the doors of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. On the other side of the doors, she could hear the low, urgent sound of Severus' voice.

"Draco, if you do not tell me what you are doing, then I can not help you."

"What makes you think I want your help, old man?" Draco's voice was spitting and disrespectful, and Hermione frowned as she pressed her ear to the door. Draco continued, "Aunt Bellatrix taught me how to block you out, you know. She says not to trust you one bit."

"Your Aunt Bellatrix has grown paranoid, Draco, after so long in Azkaban. The Dark Lord trusts me; your mothers trusts me. I saw her tortured with my own eyes because he has grown impatient with you. If you allow me to assist you, no further harm will come to anyone for this -"

"Oh, is that so?" Draco scoffed. "Is that right? It's only that I'm being asked to kill a man, isn't it? A right powerful wizard, at that. It's not the most simple task I've been given, you know. I _am_ trying…"

"I know that!" Severus clipped, and then there was a beat of silence before he said, "I will do anything I must to help you. That is what I promised your mother, and I shall hold myself to that promise, Draco. But you must tell me how to help you."

Draco was silent for a very long moment. Then he murmured softly, "As soon as I do it, all hell will break loose, won't it?"

"What do you mean?"

Draco cleared his throat. "Rounding up the… Mudbloods. Enslaving them. Killing them."

"That is… the plan, yes." Severus' voice did a poor job of hiding his distaste, and Hermione felt a surge of fearful bile rise to her throat as she listened. Her breath hitched and she tried to ignore the hot burn of her eyes. Severus continued, "With Dumbledore gone, the Dark Lord will focus his energies wholly on Potter, and everyone else will be tasked with the implementation of… sanitizing the population, as it were."

There was a very long silence then, and Hermione thought something was terribly wrong, until Draco said,

"Yours burning, too, then?"

"It is," Severus answered brusquely. "I shall cast a Disillusionment Charm upon you. Follow me out to the Apparition Point; you can do side-along with me there."

"Is he going to ask me about it? About why it's taking me so long?" Draco sounded properly terrified, and for a brief, odd moment, Hermione felt sorry for him as she started to move away from the doors.

"I have no idea what he is going to do, Draco. Let's go now; the longer we tarry, the angrier he shall be. You know that."

Hermione felt a ripple of fear echo through her as she dashed around the corner, away from the classroom, and made her way down the nearby staircase. She ignored the hot tears that streamed down her cheeks as she dashed down flight after flight of winding stone stairs, her school robes billowing out behind her as she ran.

Somewhere along the way, she Disillusioned herself, knowing it would look very odd for her to be seen running down to the dungeons, alone, with her cheeks red from crying. She padded as silently as she could through the Potions corridor and slumped against the stone wall, burying her face in her hands as she sat outside the wooden door that led to Severus' office. She knew that his personal quarters were through a door in his office, so he'd likely be coming back here after his meeting with the Dark Lord. She did not care how long she had to wait. She needed to see him, even if he would not speak with her.

Hermione leaned back against the cold stones, silent and invisible, listening to the lonely ticking of the grandfather clock at the end of the corridor, and waited.

* * *

"Draco, my boy…" Lord Voldemort stalked around the back of the chair where Draco Malfoy sat. The reptilian old wizard dragged the pads of his fingers gently over the carved wooden frame, exploring the mahogany as though fascinated. He hissed a sigh through the holes where his nose should be, coursing his long fingernails just behind Draco's head and sending a terrified, visible shiver through the blonde-haired boy. Voldemort chuckled under his breath. "Tell me what… _exactly_ … you have planned. And when… _exactly_ … you mean to act."

Draco lowered his head. He swallowed heavily. Severus licked his lip and waited to see how Draco would answer. "My Lord," the boy began, his voice croaking in the still room, "thus far my indirect plots to murder Albus Dumbledore have not made their way to the old man…"

"That has been _painfully_ obvious, Draco. And that is not what I asked you." Voldemort's voice was silky but impatient, and he paused directly behind Draco's chair. Draco nodded minutely.

"I intend to corner him, somehow," Draco said finally. "I shall take him on directly and use my wand against him. Cursed objects have not worked. It shall have to be the Killing Curse."

"Hmm…" Voldemort hummed. He glided away from Draco's chair. His gray robes trailed after him, as did the ever-loyal Nagini. Severus watched with a pit low in his stomach. There were very few gathered in the Malfoy dining room tonight. The only ones who had been summoned had been Draco and Severus, and Narcissa was sitting there, as well. Severus had a deep sense of foreboding at the private nature of the meeting.

"Draco, I have given you one simple task," Voldemort drawled, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. He fingered his knobbly wand absently as his bare feet padded upon the wooden floor, and he cocked his bald head as if relieving an ache in his neck. "I have given it to you to prove your loyalty. Yet, you seem not to be giving it much thought."

"My Lord, I promise you I am trying -"

"Then, perhaps I have grossly overestimated your abilities," Voldemort mused gently. "You have three more months, Draco. I have waited since last summer. I do not wish for you to bungle this assignment, so I shall grant you a _generous_ amount of time. If Dumbledore is alive three months from this date, then you shall pay for your incompetence with your life. Do you understand me?"

Draco let out a strangled sort of sound, but then nodded emphatically. "Of course, My Lord," he whispered. "Thank you, My Lord."

"Severus," Voldemort murmured, turning over his bony shoulder. Severus raised his eyebrows and tried to look pleasant. Inside, of course, he was screaming in protest, for his Unbreakable Vow meant that if Draco died for his failure, so would Severus. But he cast an expectant look toward the Dark Lord and folded his hands neatly upon the dining room table, meeting the grey eyes of the evil wizard. Suddenly he felt a pressure upon his mind, and he instantly shot up his guards of Occlumency.

Distantly, he wondered what exactly Voldemort could be searching for in his memories; what it was that would interest him among Severus' thoughts. He filled his mind with blankness, with empty starlit skies and with black, bottomless seas. He saw frustration in the face of the Dark Lord, who could clearly sense that Severus was employing Occlumency. So Severus pushed forward a few memories that might interest Voldemort, to which Severus bore no objection.

 _Albus Dumbledore turned around from the fireplace in the Headmaster's office and scowled. 'Harry is the only one who might be able to bring Voldemort down, Severus… you have promised to contribute to that coming about. You would do well to remember that.'_

' _My loyalty is not to Harry Potter. You, Albus, might do well to remember that yourself.'_

Voldemort flipped through Severus' mind as though he were impatiently sorting through a book. Severus shoved forth something else to the surface of the black ocean he'd conjured in his head.

' _Come on, Prongs…' Remus Lupin glanced over his shoulder at Severus, flashing the sixth-year Slytherin a look that bore the tiniest hint of regret. 'He isn't worth detentions if Professor McGonagall comes out here. You know she doesn't like to see you dangle him up in the air...'_

' _Yeah, well…' James Potter shoved off of Lupin and straightened his jumper indignantly. 'You're not worth anybody's time, are you, Snivellus? That's why nobody's here to jump to your defence, eh? Where are all your friends, then, hmm? Off waiting for you in the dungeons?'_

' _Come on, Prongs...' Lupin said again, calmly guiding Potter away, leaving Severus seething in the courtyard._

Severus swallowed hard and tried to tear his eyes from the Dark Lord's gray, piercing gaze. He felt his fingers dig into the dining room table as he fought to keep up his shields of Occlumency, for the pressure on his mind was growing more intense. What exactly was it that Voldemort was looking for? Severus shoved forth one more memory, this one more recent, from the day of his birthday.

" _Yeah, well, 's gonna take a lot more than some lotion to make_ _ **you**_ _pretty, Granger." Gregory Goyle snorted and elbowed Vincent Crabbe as he leered at Hermione Granger with a look of lascivious hatred. 'Slather some goo on the face, but it's still a Mudblood, innit?'_

 _Hermione Granger's cheeks went scarlet as the boys approached her, and she glanced around her as if looking for help from her house-mates. Her mouth dropped open as she prepared to say something, but then Goyle continued,_

' _Or maybe Granger was just smearing the wrong white cream on her face. I could help you with that, couldn't I?'_

Severus was not sure why he'd pushed that memory forth. Perhaps it was because his mind was absolutely full to the brim with thoughts of Hermione, and that was the only one he figured the Dark Lord would find amusing. In any case, he saw Voldemort's mouth curl up in a sneer of pleasure at the sight of Gregory Goyle tormenting Hermione. Severus, distracted at that, felt his Occlumency shields tremble and falter a bit. In that split second, something was snatched from the back recesses of his brain, before he could block it from the Dark Lord. Horrified, he watched as the memory was displayed to Voldemort.

 _She was rolling her hips atop him, her denims rubbing delightfully against his throbbing erection. Her hands were coursing around his bare chest where she'd opened his shirt, and her fingers were trailing fire around his skin. Her lips were on his, vibrating with every plaintive moan she let out, and Severus was completely lost to her._

Voldemort withdrew quickly from Severus' head with a whooshing sensation that left Severus dizzy and frightened. The Dark Lord laughed, a loud and wicked cackle filling the dining room. Narcissa and Draco Malfoy stared, confused, and Severus lowered his eyes to the table, very certain he was about to face the green glow of a killing curse.

"Fucking the Mudbloods already, are we, Severus?" Voldemort sneered, and Severus flicked his black gaze up to see Narcissa crumple her eyebrows at him in amazement.

"My Lord… she is Harry Potter's best friend," Severus began softly. "I thought it would be easiest to glean information from her by… manipulating her into physical relations. She is a valuable source of intelligence, since she is so close to Potter. And, since she is obsessed with school, she is particularly vulnerable to... attentions... from a teacher."

"Hmm." Voldemort chuckled again, a low and amused sound. Beside Severus, Draco Malfoy looked horrified.

" _Granger?_ " he whispered, and Severus glared at him to be silent.

"Well," the Dark Lord murmured, petting Nagini's head, "do whatever you will, I suppose, Severus, in the course of destroying Harry Potter's will and cause. However… it would do you well to remember that she is a filthy creature. Take the proper precautions, eh?"

He smirked at Severus, who nodded silently, feeling a surge of disgust bubbling up from his core.

As he and Draco made their way back from the Apparition Point outside Hogwarts, Draco muttered,

"Is it true about you and Granger?"

"I do not wish to discuss my duties with you any more than you wish to discuss yours with me, Draco," Severus snapped. He turned suddenly to face the boy. "You are to leave her be, you understand?"

He saw a little flash of realization come over Draco's pale eyes, and the boy swallowed heavily before nodding silently. They continued into the castle without another word.

* * *

"Hermione…"

She gasped as her eyes shot open, her cheek feeling cold against the hard stone floor. Hermione hadn't realized she had fallen asleep in the empty Potions corridor. What time was it, anyway? She flicked her eyes to the grandfather clock; it was past eleven. Then she pushed herself up to sit and saw that Severus was hovering above her. He was looking down, but not meeting her eyes, and Hermione realized she must still be Disillusioned. How did he know she was here?

Severus pointed his wand at the door of his office and it clicked quietly, swinging gently to grant him entrance. He pushed it open and cocked his head to indicate she should follow him inside. Once he shut the door behind her, Hermione silently negated her Disillusionment charm, standing nervously in front of Severus' desk. She stared in wonder as he silently continued through the office, pointing his wand at the wooden door at the back of the room and murmuring something under his breath.

"Where are you going?" she asked softly.

"Come with me," he said rather sharply. Then, turning over his shoulder, he added more gently, "please."

Hermione frowned and followed him through the pitch-black doorway. Her heart beat nervously in her chest and she shivered in the chilly, dank air of the space as she realized that these must be his private quarters. She should not be here, she thought. She should be up in Gryffindor Tower, in the girls' dormitories with all the other sixth-years.

Severus shut the heavy wooden door behind her and it clicked as it locked. Hermione swallowed heavily, stepping forward anxiously into the darkness, unable to see. She felt Severus' hand, lacing his slender fingers into hers and squeezing carefully as he pulled her down the little hallway.

" _Incendio_ ," Severus whispered, and with a flick of his black wand, the fireplace burst into a warm glow. The room before Hermione became visible then.

She could see that it was a decently-sized space with a sitting area before the fire, a four-poster bed sheathed in dark emerald curtains, a full wall of built-in bookshelves, and a door that must have led to a bathroom. There was a mahogany wardrobe and a tall dresser, and a small bedside table. It was a simple space, Hermione thought, although the furnishings were elegant and well-kept. Severus gestured loosely toward a dark leather wingback chair before the fire, and Hermione sank gratefully into it, feeling quite sore after hours alone in the stone corridor.

He stalked off somewhere, and she heard the soft tinkling of glass as she stared into the crackling flames in the fireplace. It felt odd to be here, but also comforting, for Severus had been so vehemently avoiding Hermione's presence for the past ten days that she had become rather convinced he despised her.

But there were more important things to discuss than whether or not he hated her.

"I heard you talking with Draco earlier," Hermione said suddenly. "When I went to the Defense classroom for our lessons."

"Yes, I thought you probably had," Severus said from somewhere behind her. "I felt that someone had taken down my muffling charm… I thought it was probably you."

"So you were summoned tonight, then?" Hermione asked, and she noted the lack of emotion in her own voice. Her own apathy should have frightened her, she knew, but it didn't. Severus appeared abruptly before her wingback chair and held out a glass filled with blood-red liquid.

"Elf-made wine," Severus murmured. "You don't have to drink any, and I normally don't. But after tonight, I need a glass or two, I'm afraid, and I don't like to drink alone."

Hermione smirked a bit and took the glass from his hand. She sipped at it a bit, relishing the smooth bitterness of the wine as she watched Severus sink into the chair beside her. He'd shucked his frock coat, she could see, and had undone the top three buttons of his white dress shirt. Hermione could not help but ogle him a bit as he sighed heavily and gazed into the fire, drinking from his red wine. He dragged the pad of his thumb over his lip thoughtfully, and Hermione tried not to moan aloud at the sight of it. Instead, she took a sip of her own wine and looked away from him.

"Are you quite all right, then?" she asked softly. "Is Draco all right?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Severus' face flick toward her. "Do you honestly care whether Draco Malfoy is 'all right'?" he asked skeptically.

Hermione cocked her head a bit and smiled sadly. "It seems to me as though he's been… rather dragged into all of this," she considered. "That's the impression I get."

"Well, you're right," Severus agreed. "As you very often are."

That was kind of him to say, Hermione thought, taking another sip of her wine. It tasted like apples, like honey, and it made her feel warm inside, which was pleasant after falling asleep in the frigid Potions corridor. She was still shivering a bit from that.

"I was very worried about you," she admitted in a little murmur. "I always worry about you when I think you've been called to him."

She cast her eyes over to him. He stared back, his cold black eyes looking pensive. "You don't need to worry about me," he promised bitterly. He smirked. "I am… extremely expendable. Simply ask our dear Headmaster. And, anyway, Hermione… you need to worry about yourself. And you need to find a good boy to turn your attentions to. Someone who is going to make it through all of this, and whirl you through some syrupy romance and whisk you off your feet as you fall head-over-heels in love with him. Some impressive, young man with a handsome, young face who will give you all the attention you deserve and spend many happy years with you."

Severus raised his cup in a mock toast, and Hermione frowned deeply, feeling her eyes burn a bit as she registered her hurt. She shook her head a bit, steeling herself, and said sharply, "Well, now you've quite offended me, _Professor_."

He cleared his throat and cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?" He drank deeply from his cup.

"Have I ever, in all the time you've known me, given you the impression that I need or want a Prince Charming, sir?"

"No." Severus shook his head, sipping again as he finished his cup of wine. He rose to refill it and flicked on the wizarding radio on his mantle. A soft, fuzzy sound of orchestral music filled the now-awkward silence of his private quarters.

"What makes you think I want a _boy_ instead of a _man_ , Professor Snape?"

"Would you please stop calling me that?" Severus looked properly annoyed as he turned around from the mantle, his wine glass refilled. He sipped from it, his face looking cross, and brought the bottle of elf-made wine to where Hermione sat. He quickly poured more wine into her glass and then plunked the bottle back down upon the mantle. He turned to face the fire, staying standing. Hermione pressed on, feeling irritated with him.

"Well, why should I call you anything else, when you insist that I should not care that you're in grave danger? When you bring me into your bedroom and ply me with wine and then tell me to leave you be and go traipsing off with some moon-faced boy? Do you have any idea how confusing you are?"

"Yes, well… I am rather confused myself, _Miss Granger_ ," Severus whispered, leaning against his mantle and touching his wine glass to his lips. Then he thought the better of it and shook his head, setting the glass upon the mantle. He pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "The Dark Lord searched my mind tonight."

Hermione was taken aback. Wasn't Severus an Occlumens? What could Voldemort have found that would have been so dangerous? She hesitated before murmuring, "And?"

"And I managed to control what he saw for a good long while before… before he plucked out a memory of you with me."

"Oh." Hermione felt her heart sink. "I see. What did you tell him?"

Severus turned away from her and stared into the fireplace. He wrapped his fingers around his mantle and gripped tightly. "I told him I was manipulating you into relations with me so that I could get information from you about Harry Potter."

Hermione was silent for a long moment. "Well, that's not what you're doing, is it?"

Severus whirled around and pinched his lips together, glaring at her. He didn't need to say anything. Hermione had her answer. She lowered her eyes to her cup full of wine and fingered the stem of the glass nervously.

"Perhaps it would be safest for both of us if he continued to believe that," she said softly. "I promise, I'm not just saying that so you'll kiss me again…"

"I… said what I said to save your life and my own," Severus mumbled. "I hope you know that. If he'd known the truth, I would have been killed at the meeting, and you would be…"

He trailed off then, and Hermione looked up to see him raking his fingers through his hair anxiously.

"And what is the truth, Severus?" she asked gently, rising to her feet and placing her glass of wine upon the little table next to her chair. "I asked you once before, but it was much less then than it is now. What is this?"

She stood a foot away from him and stared up into his cold, dark eyes, waiting. He was silent for what felt like an eternity, and then he licked his bottom lip slowly before releasing a shaking breath. Finally, he whispered,

"All I know, Hermione, is that if anything were to happen to you… then I would not care at all what were to happen to me."

She felt her heart skip a beat at that, and her eyes suddenly welled with unsolicited tears. Her lips parted in surprise, which quickly became shock when he lowered his face to kiss her gently.

He touched his mouth to hers and wrapped his hands around her biceps, squeezing tenderly as he pulled her against his chest. Hermione's hands made their way up to his soft hair, her fingers ensnaring themselves in his raven locks as if she were terrified to let him go.

When he pulled away, she whispered, "You need to make more memories for him to see."

Severus smirked at her. "Do I?"

Hermione nodded seriously. "Otherwise, he shan't believe you." She thought hard for a moment before she shakily murmured, "I want you to take me, Severus."

Suddenly he took a large step away from her, shaking his head vehemently. "No," he said sternly.

Hermione lowered her gaze. "Then to whom shall I give myself?" she asked, knowing she was being wickedly manipulative. "I suppose Ron would do it, if I asked… Cormac McLaggen seemed willing enough, or -"

He cut her off by shoving his hand under her chin and pulling her face up so that she was looking into his angry eyes. Rickety breaths were making their way in and out of his nostrils, and he was glaring at her as he whispered, "Don't do that to me, Hermione. Don't."

"I want it to be you," Hermione heard her voice say insistently, and she felt her hands ball into fists at her sides petulantly. Severus looked as though he were in physical pain as he said,

"But it doesn't need to be now."

"When, then? As you've pointed out quite frequently, we do not have the luxury of time."

Severus gritted his teeth and groaned in frustration. He shut his eyes and cupped Hermione's cheek in his hand. She covered his hand with hers and murmured,

"I am of age, Severus, and I am giving you permission. Please do the same for yourself, hmm?"

He opened his inky eyes then, and stared at Hermione for a very long while. His gaze softened after a moment, and Hermione felt her knees go weak when he moved to press his lips against hers once more. She felt his left hand tighten against her cheek as his right slipped around to the small of her back, pulling her flush against his body. His fingers moved from her cheek to snare themselves in her hair as he kissed her more firmly, and she began to feel a glowing warmth of desire working its way outward from her core.

Severus ground his hips smoothly against Hermione, and she could feel his hardness there, sending a spark of want rippling through her veins. His low voice vibrated against her mouth as he broke their kiss.

"Come with me," he hummed, and he guided her smoothly toward his bed.

* * *

Severus had seduced a modest number of witches over the years, most of whom were either cheap whores in Knockturn Alley or quick liaisons he'd had during his years as a Death Eater. His deep, smooth voice had always seemed to override any lack of visual appeal, and the women had always seemed perfectly satisfied with his ministrations. But Severus had never been in a serious relationship, and he had certainly never been in love. Not since Lily.

He truly had no idea what _this_ was, whatever was happening with Hermione Granger. But he knew very well that no female in his entire life had looked up at him the way she was doing now, with her eyes wide and wondering and glinting with a blend of arousal and anxiety. Severus felt a swell of want for her surge through his veins as he led her gently toward his bed, urging her up until she was sitting upon his soft mattress. In the firelight, her chestnut eyes looked hungry and fearful, and Severus suddenly found himself with absolutely no idea what to do. He became even more flustered when he heard her whisper,

"Will you show me how, Severus?"

He huffed shakily and nodded, faking confidence and knowing that he would need to put on the mask of the teacher for her now. The truth was that nearly all of Severus' sexual encounters had involved a rushed removal of some clothing, a quick muttering of a contraceptive spell, and a rutting during which he found some measure of carnal relief. That was it. No whispers, no eye contact, and no emotion whatsoever. This already felt different, and he was almost certainly as nervous as she was. But he squared his jaw and swallowed heavily and resolved to be the mature individual in the room.

Severus flicked his eyes down Hermione's form and frowned a bit as he realized she was still wearing her school uniform. That made the hardness in his trousers fade a bit; he didn't want her to be his student. Not here. The uniform would need to go, sooner rather than later. He reached with trembling fingers for the small toggle at her sternum and unhooked the button with a smooth motion. She watched him do it, her own hands letting go of the duvet as she shifted her weight to wriggle out of her Gryffindor robe.

Severus tossed the long black garment aside and moved on to her burgundy-and-gold tie. He had loosened it and was starting to pull it over her neck when he paused. He realized that if he took her uniform off one piece at a time, it would ruin his desire to take her. She wasn't like the rest of them - she wasn't a child. Why she should be dressed like one, Severus had no idea, but it made him feel very wrong indeed to be disrobing her from her student uniform. He licked his bottom lip and said carefully,

"I… I am going to give you a few moments, Hermione… to take all of this off. Put it in a little pile over there." He jerked his head toward the leather wingback before the fire and ignored the look of confusion on Hermione's face. "I shall return in five minutes."

Then he released her loosened tie and turned swiftly away, his footfalls quick and quiet on his rug as he made his way to his little bathroom and shut the door behind him. Severus gripped the edge of his white porcelain sink and tried to catch his breath, glaring up at himself in his tarnished mirror. He turned on the tap, barely able to hear the muffled sound of the classical music playing on the wizarding radio in the other room.

He splashed a bit of frigid water on his face and looked at himself again, realizing for the first time just how old he looked to his own eyes. At thirty-seven, he was hardly an antique, but he was starting to feel age in his bones, and there were wrinkles and lines criss-crossing his face. The stress and pressure of his double life, no doubt, had contributed to the wear and tear on his body and soul. Nonetheless, Severus was tired, and he looked it.

He splashed more cold water on his face and patted his skin with a small towel, trying to kill a few moments. He put his hand upon the glass door knob and was about to turn it, to go back out to Hermione, when he froze.

 _Just what exactly do you think you are doing, Severus?_ he barked at himself. _Are you prepared to go out there, find a naked, vulnerable girl in your bed, and plunder her virgin body with no regard whatsoever for the consequences?_

Severus' hand hovered over the door knob for a very long moment as he considered the answer to his own question. Then, at last, he realized that he wanted nothing more in all the world than to make love to Hermione Granger, and he twisted the door knob and opened the door, and he strode back into the sitting room.

He paused when he saw her, for he found himself quite unable to move at the sight of her naked form. She was seated upon his bed, perched on the edge with her ankles crossed demurely. One arm was cast chastely over her chest in a half-hearted attempt to cover up her breasts, and the other hand was nervously stroking her her cheek. She was staring into the fireplace, deliberately avoiding his gaze, and her honey-colored curls glowed in the dim light as they hung around her face.

She smiled shyly at him, digging her teeth into her bottom lip as she bent her knees a bit, twisting into a demure little shape of embarrassed modesty. Severus took a step forward, feeling quite as though his knees were going to give out, and the ache in his groin quickly returned as he took in the vision of her. Her legs were long and lean, smooth and warm in the firelight. But she was covering too much of herself in her bashful chastity, and as he neared the bed Severus reached out and gently pulled her wrists away from her chest.

Hermione's cheeks flushed a deep scarlet as he looked down upon her bare chest, holding her wrists tenderly in his grasp. His breath hitched and he swallowed heavily, for the sight of her perfectly round, soft breasts - just large enough to cup in his hand, he thought - was almost too much. He shut his eyes and murmured,

"Hermione, you are…" He wasn't sure exactly what to say, not wanting to sound foolish or forward, and he hesitated for a moment too long. He opened his eyes and saw her wince a bit.

"Gangly?" she suggested with self-deprecating smirk. "Gawky and plain and unappealing?"

"No." Severus released one of her wrists and brushed the knuckles of his right hand over her collarbone. She shivered a bit, letting her eyelids flutter shut. Severus allowed his knuckles to drift from her collarbone down and around the curve of her breast until his fingers swept gently over the goosefleshed skin there. He cupped the weight of her bosom in his palm and squeezed mildly, eliciting a low groan from the back of her throat. "No," he said again, in response to how she'd put herself down. "I was going to say that you're incredibly beautiful, Hermione… that you quite took away my breath and my words when I laid eyes on you."

"Mmm…" She whimpered softly as he dragged the pad of his thumb over her nipple, and he shuddered when he saw it harden and perk at his touch. Inside his trousers, Severus could feel his cock straining for attention. But he was loathe to whip himself out straight away and frighten her. It was her first attempt at this, after all, and he musn't rush any of it. Far too many girls had been traumatized by vicious first times…

Severus lowered his face and brushed his lips against Hermione's, for her eyes were still shut and she had tipped her face backward a bit. She was leaning onto her hands, which were resting upon the duvet, and when he started to kiss her, her hands tightened at clutched roughly at the blanket. Severus snaked his left hand through her hair, caressing her scalp as mildly as he could manage, though the inside of his body was screaming at him to assuage all of his tension by moving more quickly.

He felt her fingers at his chest, then, as he kissed her tenderly. She was undoing the buttons on his shirt, and the feeling of her fingers flying down his front only egged him on. He kept massaging her chest and kissing her lips, and from somewhere in his sternum, a hoarse groan ripped its way up and vibrated against her mouth.

Hermione urged him to stand long enough for her to pull his dress shirt out of his trousers and to push it off of his shoulders. Severus was abruptly self-conscious at the notion of being naked in front of her, though he supposed that if she was to be nude for this, then he would have to be, as well. Sometimes, in past liaisons, he'd only bothered to remove the bare minimum clothing necessary - intimacy had not been essential and had therefore been wholly undesirable. Right now, he felt a strange mix of self-consciousness and desire.

At the instant that Hermione began coursing her small hands around his chest and back, aimlessly pressing her warm palms and fingers against his skin, Severus decided that he was no longer bashful at all. Right now, he realized, he wanted her. Very badly.

In a moment of almost panicked want, Severus grasped Hermione's wrists from his chest and planted them firmly at his groin. She stared up at him, her wide brown eyes glistening, and she hesitated for the briefest of moments. Severus thought perhaps he'd frightened her, but then her fingers set to unbuttoning the placket of his black trousers, and then they hooked inside the elastic waistband of his underwear.

Severus could not help himself; he rolled his pelvis forward against her hand to urge her onward, and he heard her moan a little as she pulled down his clothes and revealed his erect member. He yanked his trousers the rest of the way down and awkwardly kicked them away, along with his dragon hide boots and socks, and then stood beside the bed completely nude, feeling suddenly more on-display than he'd ever done in his entire life. It was a thoroughly uncomfortable sensation, he thought, to be so vulnerable and naked in front of a person like _this_ \- a person whose opinion actually mattered.

So he climbed wordlessly up onto the bed with her, not wanting to stand next to her like a preening idiot. He pressed very gently upon Hermione's shoulders and urged her to lie down upon her back, and she did as he bade her. But there was a look of abject panic in her brown eyes as she stared at the ceiling, and Severus thought she'd grown very frightened now that the reality of what he might do to her had set in.

"Look at me, Hermione," he murmured, as softly as he could. She turned her wide chestnut gaze to him and smiled sadly, reaching a trembling hand out for his cheek. Severus shook his head against his hand.

"You have to tell me," he insisted. "You have to tell me that you want this."

She nodded bravely, though her eyes looked nervous. _Damned Gryffindors,_ Severus snorted in his mind.

"I want _you_ , Severus," Hermione whispered, and she reached for his hand and placed it gently between her legs as if to show him. Sure enough, she was sopping wet where she placed the pads of his fingers, and Severus stifled a moan at the feel of her.

He pulsed his fingers against her folds, flitting them up and around her clit every now and then to excite her. She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the duvet, chewing anxiously on her bottom lip and arching her back. For several long minutes, Severus used his left hand to touch her everywhere he could reach - her lovely little breasts, the soft curve of her hip, her throat - where she kept her magic. His right hand caressed her womanhood dexterously, pushing two slender fingers inside her tight entrance after a while. She keened loudly at that, and Severus thought he might have hurt her, for she clutched at his forearm and panted furiously.

But then she started bucking her hips against his hand, grinding herself on his palm and fingers, and Severus started timing his ministrations with her own movements. His own voice was uncontrollable now, a low moan working its way almost constantly from his chest as he watched her writhe before him.

"Look at me," he growled, sounding almost cruel even to his own ears. She forced her brown eyes open and stared at him pleadingly. "Come for me, Hermione," he told her, and she nodded in assent.

Then, sure enough, she sobbed wordlessly and he felt her walls clench hard around his fingers, perhaps seven or eight times. It was an erratic, irregular series of contractions, a hot pulsing of her completion that brought forth a great surge of warm dew. Severus buckled over at the feel of it, yanking his hand from her body and crashing his mouth onto hers with a sudden detonation of need. She clutched at his face and kissed him back with a weak little squeal.

"Good girl," he panted onto her mouth as she breathlessly recovered from her climax. "Good girl."

He _needed_ her. He needed to be inside of her, right now. It was as she had said; she had given him permission, and she was lying here before him, naked and ready and wanting him. Every shred of self-doubt and self-control that had once held Severus back was long gone now. He moved to hover himself above her and used his knee to gently part her legs.

Then he pressed his hand against her lower abdomen and shut his eyes, calling forth every ounce of energy he could from his solar plexus. He whipped his magic into a ball of seething, hot white light and hurled it forth from his right hand so that it flowed into Hermione's abdomen.

" _Breviter sterilitatem_ ," he whispered, incanting the charm for a temporary contraceptive. Hermione twitched a bit beneath him, shifting her weight on the mattress, and Severus moved his hand from her lower abdomen up to her breast, where he touched her gently, and then farther up to cup her cheek. He leaned down to kiss her lips as though waking her from a sleep.

"Tell me you that you want this," he insisted again, his voice a low rumble in the dark room. For one terrifying moment, she said nothing. She just stared up at him while he hovered on top of her, his stiff cock poking against her thigh. Her wide brown eyes looked almost hesitant, then very desirous indeed, but there was no sound except for the staticky orchestra on the radio. Severus swallowed heavily and prepared to climb off of her. "Hermione…"

"I have never wanted anything more in my entire life," she whispered finally, and she reached between their bodies to part her knees a bit more and wrap her fingers around the shaft of Severus' cock. He shuddered fiercely at the feel of her hand on him, and was surprised when she moved his tip to rest at the sodden entrance of her womanhood. But then she looked a bit scared again. She threaded her arms around his shoulders and took a deep, shaking breath. "Go ahead," she murmured.

Severus licked his bottom lip and pulled Hermione's knees up a bit to snake around his waist, and she obligingly linked her ankles behind his back. He pushed in as gently as he could manage, and it helped that she was so wet and aroused, but she still trembled and tightened against him. She shut her eyes and gasped at his girth, and her whole body tensed. That would hardly help any pain, Severus knew, so he leaned down to nuzzle against her neck, breathing warm air against her skin, and he whispered into her ear,

"Look at me, Hermione."

He pulled back, and she listened to him, her large bronze eyes meeting his cold black ones.

He ensnared one hand into her hair, rubbing her scalp with his fingertips, and the other hand held fast to her waist. He pushed against his knees a bit, keeping eye contact with her, and thrust against her body again, going a few inches deeper this time. She gasped again and looked like she was going to shut her eyes.

"Don't stop looking at me," Severus ordered her gently. Hermione resolutely stared at him as if his inky gaze was the only thing keeping her alive, but Severus saw the pain rip through her chestnut eyes when he pushed in harder the next time. He felt her barrier give way, felt her entire body quiver and stiffen, but he leaned down and kissed her with a mild sweep of his tongue over her lips.

"Look at me…" he whispered, and she did. He thrust more smoothly now, but still slowly, and felt her body relax a little against him. He combed his fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp soothingly. "Breathe," he instructed her, when he realized she'd been holding her breath for some time. "Breathe… good girl."

She held fast to his shoulders, and for what felt like a very long time, he rolled his hips against hers in a steady, tranquil rhythm. Every now and then, she whispered his name, or he murmured hers. Never once did she tear her eyes from his. She was warm, and wet, and very, very tight around him. It felt better than anything had in as long as Severus could remember. All he wanted to do for the rest of his life was lie here, staring at her, pumping his hips against her beautiful body.

But eventually, the tight knot of pleasure in his stomach started to feel unbearably taut. The buzzing in his mind started to grow ridiculously loud. And the heat in his veins started to feel like fire.

The familiar pressure at the base of his cock told him he was close. With a twinge of regret that it would all be over very soon, Severus frantically leaned down and kissed Hermione square on the mouth as though bidding her farewell. She responded eagerly, sweeping her tongue over the roof of his mouth and pulling a groan from him. She dragged her teeth over his lower lip, and then Severus was lost.

"Hermione!" he cried, pulling away from her mouth and burying his face into her neck as he came. Distantly, he thought to support himself on his hands so he wouldn't crush her. He grunted like an animal, feeling his seed burst forth from his rigid cock, spilling inside of her body in urgent volleys.

He was burning alive, his entire body exploding with gratification, and then in a matter of seconds it was all over. He fizzled into a panting, sweating heap, pulling his softening member from Hermione's body and feeling his fluids follow him out. He reached for his wand on the side table, far too exhausted for wandless magic, and cast a silent _tergeo_ upon the both of them.

He collapsed beside her upon his back and stared up at the ceiling, knowing that he'd taken something from her that he could never give back. He had no idea whether to thank her or whether to apologize, so he said nothing at all.

* * *

Hermione sank into the bath in the Prefect's Bathroom with a low hiss and breathed in deeply. She'd filled the bath water with a mixture of foams, soaps, and oils designed to soothe her aching mind and and sore body. Spearmint, eucalyptus, green tea, and lavender… Hermione felt the hot water envelop her body, shutting her eyes against the shadowy, silent bathroom.

When she'd gone into Gryffindor Tower to fetch her bathrobe and caddy of toiletries, she'd found Harry and Ron loitering in the common room. Since it was the middle of the night, she'd been just as curious to find them as they had been to see her come stumbling through the portrait hole.

Harry had explained furtively that he had been having Dobby and Kreacher track Draco Malfoy to find out what he'd been up to. Draco had been using the Room of Requirement, Harry had found out from the House-Elves. Tonight, Harry said, Kreacher had intimated that Draco had left the school grounds somehow, and he and Ron believed that Draco was up to something drastic.

Hermione had nodded and frowned, but had not let them know that she'd heard Draco talking with Severus, nor that Severus had left Hogwarts with the young Slytherin. She did not tell her friends what Severus had confided in her - that Draco had been tasked with something terrible, and that soon enough Severus would have to commit some dastardly act.

She felt torn in two directions, between the friends she'd faithfully followed and helped for the past six years, and the man who had so quickly swept her off her feet. Tonight, he'd taken her maidenhead, and it had been the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to Hermione.

She'd decided to discuss anything Ron and Harry had in mind with them in the morning. In the meantime, she told them, she was in desperate need of a bath. That was not entirely a lie. She was sore between her legs, and she had sweat caked on her scalp. She changed in her dormitory into her bathrobe and made her way to the fifth floor corridor. Now, as she sat in the hot bath water, she could see his face hovering above her again.

" _Look at me, Hermione,_ " he'd said, more than once… when he'd touched her between her legs… before he'd broken through her barrier… and then, when she'd held her breath nervously, he'd petted her hair and whispered, " _Breathe… breathe. Good girl."_

He'd been gentle, and affectionate, and careful. Severus had taken any fantasy Hermione had of her first time and shattered it, for the bliss he'd given her was beyond anything she could have imagined. After he'd found his release inside of her, and then kindly cleaned her up, he'd laid beside her and been silent for a long time.

"I find myself most unwilling to ask you to leave," Severus had murmured finally, "and I think it a most ungentlemanly thing to do at a time such as this. But I fear that if you linger here too much longer, it may lead to trouble for us both."

She had nodded regretfully and sat up, feeling rather self-conscious as she put herself to rights in her school uniform. Severus had pulled on his trousers and his white dress shirt, which he'd mercifully left open on his lightly sculpted chest. He had stood in front of her, before his fire, and planted a very soft kiss upon her forehead before tying her maroon-and-gold tie around her neck and cinching it up for her.

"Well," Hermione had whispered up at him, "at least if _he_ demands proof that you've manipulated me for information… you've got something to show him now."

"Perhaps," Severus had nodded, frowning, "though there are certain visions my eyes beheld tonight that will always be very precious to me… and I shall guard them very carefully, very selfishly, for my own."

She had blushed a bit at that, and at the way he had pulled her chin up so that he could graze his lips lazily against hers once more.

"Now," he had pronounced with mock severity, "It is nearly one in the morning, Miss Granger. Get yourself back to Gryffindor Tower at once, or I shall need to take fifty points from Gryffindor for your… various and sundry infractions."

He'd smirked at her and squeezed her hand. She had considered saying something cheeky like, ' _of course, sir_ ,' but then realized that was not how she wished to end this meeting. So, instead, she had raised herself up onto her toes and had drawn her fingers along his sharp jawline. She had pressed her lips against his one final time and had whispered,

"Good night, my prince." Then she had left him standing there, his brow furrowed in an expression she could not quite read as he reacted to her farewell.

* * *

"The problem, Hermione, is that Dumbledore is getting properly cross with me… he says I need to get that memory from Professor Slughorn. This would seem like as good a time as any. He'll be drunk and speaking casually with people. I might be able to get him alone for a conversation."

Harry scuffed his foot on the rug in the Gryffindor common room and looked about to make certain nobody else was listening. The only other people in the room were a pair of first-years playing Wizard's Chess over in the corner. Hermione sighed and looked down at the invitation in her hands.

 _You are cordially invited to attend the SPRING GALA hosted in honor of select members of the Hogwarts community. Your host, Professor Horace Slughorn, would be honoured if you would join him this coming Saturday for refreshments and dancing._

Hermione chewed her lip. "Well, I can't take Ron, can I?" she scoffed, "seeing as he's still regularly sucking face with Lavender Brown?"

Harry winced. "You'll have to go with me, I'm afraid. Better than Cormac McLaggen, though, innit?"

He cocked a black eyebrow at her, and Hermione frowned. "Very well," she nodded, rolling up the invitation. "I'll meet you in here at eight o'clock on Saturday. Do not be late, Harry. And don't make me go for nothing, eh? Get the damned memory."

* * *

On Saturday, Hermione nervously descended the stairs from the girls' dormitory, clutching her wand in her right hand and a small gray drawstring purse in her left. She tread carefully on her low silver heels and let out a shaky sigh, hoping she didn't look a complete fool. Then she saw Harry standing in the common room in respectable-looking dress robes, and when he turned round, his face looked alarmed. She paused and glanced down self-consciously, but then he said,

"Erm… you look… you look _great_ , 'Mione. Honest."

"Oh. Good. Thank you, Harry." Hermione stepped the rest of the way down the stairs and took his arm awkardly, feeling very much as though her brother were leading her off to a party.

She had worked for the past few days on Transfiguring and charming herself a proper dress, just as she had done for the Christmas party. This one had gotten Parvati's approval, and even Lavender had said it was 'quite pretty.' The dress was tea-length, falling just to the middle of Hermione's calves, and it was made of a delicate mint green tulle. It was sleeveless; a sweetheart neckline carved its way over Hermione's chest while a thin layer of tulle modestly continued up her neck and shoulders. The entire thing was covered with embroidered, beaded flowers that glittered in the candlelight, the same sea-foam green as the rest of the gown. The dress had a mildly vintage feel to it, but it was modest and lovely, and Hermione felt elegant when she moved in it.

She'd Transfigured herself a pair of dark silver pumps and a gray drawstring purse to carry. She'd smoothed her hair into a low chignon at her neck, into which she'd stuck a comb made out of a spray of freshwater pearls. She'd kept her makeup simple and elegant, with a bit of copper eyeshadow and mascara, peach-toned lip balm, and a delicate sweep of bronzer on her cheeks.

She and Harry walked quietly down the single storey and headed down the long corridor that led to Professor Slughorn's office. Hermione finally whispered,

"Harry… if Professor Dumbledore has such a strong feeling about all of this, then why does he _need_ you to get a memory from Professor Slughorn, anyway?"

Harry hesitated. "Honestly… I have no idea. You're right. When Dumbledore guesses, he's usually right. He seems more scared than usual about this, for some reason. I have no idea why it is he feels so compelled for me to get information directly from Slughorn on this, but he does. I'm going to do the best I can to do what Dumbledore's asked me to do. If you'd seen what I have in the Pensieve, Hermione, then you'd be listening to Dumbledore's orders, too."

"I'm not suggesting you disobey him, Harry!" Hermione turned to him in the corridor outside Slughorn's office. "It's just… it seems _odd_ , is all, that some memory between Professor Slughorn and Tom Riddle should bear such incredible significance. It's… well, it's alarming, don't you think?"

"Yes, I do. Now, shall we dance?" Harry opened the door to the office, and Hermione scowled as she followed him into the party.

The office looked quite different than it had for the Christmas party, when the place had been dark and heavy with winter. Now it was airy and twinkling with the promise of spring. There were enchanted flowers vining through the space, pastel and opalescent and shimmering. There were gauzy curtains of gold and silver, and small birds fluttered overhead and landed upon twigs. There was a pleasant string quartet playing in one corner. Students not lucky enough to be members of the Slug Club were milling about with trays of light, fluffy desserts. Neville Longbottom ambled by with a tray of cream puffs and offered them to Harry and Hermione with a shy smile.

"All right there, Harry? Hermione?" Neville held out a white-gloved hand and gestured to his tray. "Cream puff?"

"Oh… thank you, Neville." Hermione frowned deeply at the sight of her fellow Gryffindor being relegated to a service position, but silently reminded herself that she was here with Harry to gather information from Professor Slughorn. She took a puff and popped it into her mouth, relishing the way the sweet cream oozed forth from the pastry.

A few moments later, Harry brought her a delicate-looking crystal flute of champagne. Hermione gulped as she remembered drinking far too much at Slughorn's last party, and she resolved to temper her drinking this time. After a while, Luna Lovegood drifted over in a dress that was the color of carrots, with a sprig of kelly green lace shooting from one shoulder.

"Happy spring gala!" she said dreamily to Hermione. "The birds are lovely, aren't they? I think I saw one with two heads… must be a gandaberunda…"

Hermione chatted with Luna for a few moments while Harry drifted off to try to corner Professor Slughorn. Luna wanted to discuss the intricacies of Hermione's dress, and how she'd Transfigured it. It was only a few minutes before Harry came scuttling back to the girls, and Hermione frowned at him.

"Erm… 'scuse me, Luna… Hermione, will you dance with me?" Harry asked her pointedly, and Hermione handed her champagne over to Luna.

"Of course. Here, Luna. Would you mind holding this?"

"Well, I'm not of age, but I shall set it safely right here, and it shall wait for you!" Luna smiled warmly and placed the champagne upon a side table. "I will watch it carefully. Go on and dance!"

Harry grasped Hermione's hand and guided her rather roughly out to the dance floor, leading her haphazardly in a slow two-step dance. Hermione wound up having to guide him most of the way, for he was a rather poor dancer. She tried to keep them from bumping into other couples as they swayed.

"What happened?" she hissed at Harry.

"I went in too strong," Harry admitted softly, wincing. "He closed up straight away and said, 'This is a party now, Harry. Go enjoy yourself. This is neither the time nor the place to discuss such serious matters.' And then he turned round and started blathering to Melinda Bobbin." He shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I feel as though I may have dragged you here for nothing. I doubt he's going to open up about it at all any more tonight. If you want to leave, I'll understand."

"Well, that would look rather poorly on the both of us," Hermione scowled, "and would certainly not help your cause in the future, would it?"

"I'm sorry," Harry said again. The song ended and Harry took his hand off of Hermione's waist, stepping away from her and scratching at his mop of black hair. "Best go make sure Luna isn't searching the bubbles of your champagne for any mysterious creatures, then."

"She isn't her father, Harry." Hermione smirked at him. "She's actually quite bright and kind, you know."

She followed him off of the dance floor, gratefully taking her flute of champagne from him and sipping at it again over near a creeping vine of flowers. She was about to say something to Luna, who was still standing there faithfully, but then she paused when her eyes came to rest upon a row of small black buttons.

"Severus," her voice whispered, thankfully in a soft enough tremble that no one could hear it but her. Luna ignored the way Hermione was standing there staring like a starstruck little child.

He was holding a goblet of elf-made wine, his weight resting elegantly upon one leg as he leaned a bit upon the wall and looked bored. He'd eschewed his flowing cloak tonight and was wearing only his tight, knee-length black frock coat over a pair of slim trousers and his usual dragon hide boots. Even so, Hermione thought, he struck an awfully handsome figure. Out of nowhere, her mind was flush with thoughts of how he'd hovered over her and kissed her as he'd taken her virginity, how he'd gently told her to breathe and told her she was a good girl.

Suddenly, Hermione's grip gave way, and her champagne flute tumbled to the floor, shattering with a little tinkle and sending wine flying in a small puddle.

"Oh, dear!" Luna murmured from beside Hermione. "Sometimes things are far more slippery than they seem, aren't they?"

Hermione flicked her eyes up to Luna in alarm, then back to the mess on the floor, where she suddenly saw a pair of black shoes. She raised her face up to see that Severus had walked quickly over to stand before her and was smirking down at her.

"Oh! Hullo, there, Professor Snape! Hermione's spilled her champagne!" Luna intoned dreamily, and Hermione felt her cheeks color.

"Yes, I can see that," Severus drawled, and with a flick of his wand he Vanished the mess on the ground. "Shall you be taking this as a sign, Miss Granger, for more temperance than the last Slug Club gathering?"

"Indeed, sir." Hermione found herself smirking up at him, rather petulantly, and then she realized that Luna was standing right beside her. Severus stalked away from the two girls without another word and returned to lean, apparently bored, against the stone wall again.

"He does find you amusing, doesn't he?" Luna asked with a little smile, and Hermione snapped her eyes to the blonde Ravenclaw, alarmed.

"What?" Hermione demanded.

"Oh, I just mean that he is clearly far more interested in you than anyone else here. That's all. The poor man looks as though he hasn't had anybody dance with him all night, Hermione. Perhaps you should ask him!" Luna smiled very warmly and sauntered off with a little bounce in her step. Hermione watched her go, furrowing her brow in confusion and feeling her heart race with a twinge of fear. Luna put her hand on Harry's shoulder, turning him away from a half-hearted conversation with Neville, and she seemed to be asking him if he wanted to go out to the dance floor. Harry nodded and escorted Luna away, and Hermione sighed heavily.

What exactly was Luna playing at? The Ravenclaw girl had always seemed more perceptive than average to Hermione. That was true enough. But if Luna could sense an attraction between Hermione and Severus, did that mean anyone else could? And why had she suggested that Hermione ask Severus to dance?

Suddenly Hermione had a very beautiful image in her mind, of him leading her in a waltz in the middle of Professor Slughorn's office, right in the middle of the party, in front of everyone. He would whirl her around and dip her gracefully at the end of the song, and nobody would think it strange at all.

Then she shook herself a big, realizing with a jolt how absolutely ridiculous that was. Of _course_ people would think that was strange. They would _all_ think it was strange. They would think someone had slipped them both love potions.

" _Look at poor Hermione Granger - she's been cursed into dancing with that greasy bat of the dungeons,_ " they would hiss. And then, they would pity how Professor Snape had embarrassed himself by dancing with a student.

Hermione stared across the party at Severus, at how he was leaning haphazardly against the stone wall, looking very much as though he wanted to be anywhere except in Professor Slughorn's office. He sipped absently at his elf-made wine and frowned a bit, and Hermione watched as his black eyes flicked around the room before settling on hers. They stayed there, boring into her soul and searching for something, for a long moment. His face was completely expressionless, utterly controlled, though Hermione knew her own eyes were probably wide and confused.

She turned away from him at last and reached for her little drawstring bag on the table beside her. She snatched it and clopped rather ungracefully from Slughorn's office, pushing the heavy door open and dashing down the hall with a huff.

 _Harry can find the damned memory if he manages to do so_ , Hermione scowled in her head, _and if he doesn't, well, then he can suffer through the rest of the party on his own._

She made her way down the corridor and reached the stairwell, determined to head back up to Gryffindor Tower and remove her uncomfortable shoes. She would put on snug pajamas and settle into bed with a good book, she thought, and think no more of the blasted party or whether or not Severus Snape was any good at a waltz.

But then Hermione realized she had been standing alone in the corridor, staring at the stairwell, for an awfully long time, and she frowned. She had a headache from how slickly she had pulled her hair back, and she impulsively reached to yank her pearl comb from her hair and shook her curls out of their tight chignon. She raked her fingernails over her scalp and shivered at the liberation of her tresses.

"I always liked it better down, Miss Granger."

She gasped and jumped, whirling over her shoulder to see Severus slinking toward her in the dark corridor. He slipped his wand smoothly his frock coat, his hand sliding down his chest and then reaching out toward her.

"You left quite abruptly. Are you all right?"

There was a hint of genuine concern in his low, fluid voice that sent a hum of want through Hermione's veins. She gathered her honey-colored hair in her hands and coursed her fingers over her curls anxiously. She nodded once and stared down at his dragon hide boots.

"I'm fine," she whispered. "It was… Luna; she…"

Severus had stepped even closer to her now, so close that Hermione could smell his familiar and comforting aroma of herbs and wood and leather. She shut her eyes against the heady feeling of his closeness and swallowed, deciding to change the subject.

"Harry and I only came because Professor Dumbledore wants him to find something out from Professor Slughorn," she murmured in the darkness.

"To find what out?" Severus asked in a low clip, now sounding more alert.

"I don't know, exactly," Hermione admitted. "Something about Tom Riddle when he was a student here… Dark Magic he asked Slughorn about. A way for Voldemort to stay alive somehow. Professor Dumbledore's got his suspicions, of course, but… he wants Harry to get a vivid memory from Professor Slughorn for some reason. Harry thought that perhaps tonight he might be able to corner him into giving it."

"I see." Severus nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. He stood silently for a long moment and stared thoughtfully at Hermione before dragging the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip as he often did when he was thinking carefully about something. She shivered again when she saw him do it, and even harder when he murmured, "You look magnificent tonight, Hermione… you are always beautiful, of course, but… in a way, I am glad you wandered out here. I found it difficult not to stare, and I thought I was being, perhaps, a bit obvious in my attentions."

"Oh." Hermione felt her cheeks go warm at his compliment, and she couldn't help but curl her lips up into a little flattered smile. "Well, Luna thinks we're fond of one another."

"The girl notices all sorts of things that aren't there," Severus pointed out, taking another step toward Hermione, "why shouldn't she notice things that _are_?"

Hermione had no good answer for him then, feeling quite light-headed as she stared up at him with her lips parted a bit. She wanted him to kiss her, very badly indeed, but knew that it was a foolish thing to hope for even in a dark, empty corridor. She was surprised when he took her by the shoulders and guided her gently around a corner into a quiet alcove, sheltered on three sides by ancient stained glass and hidden from the rest of the corridor by a bronze statue of Laverne de Montmorency.

The moonlight peeking in through the stained glass was colored red and blue and green and purple, casting shadows and hues upon Severus' pale skin as he stared down at Hermione. Then she saw him pull his wand from his frock coat and drag it around them, and he disappeared from before her. Hermione gasped a little, realizing his Disillusionment Charm had worked so well that she couldn't even see herself. She shut her eyes, since there was no reason to look, and stepped forward against his chest. She placed her cheek gently upon his frock coat, feeling the small buttons against her cheek, and could hear the thudding of his heart beat in her ear.

Distantly, the strains of the party were still audible. There was chatter and the tinkling of glassware, and more clearly the beginnings of a mellow waltz. Hermione felt Severus slip his left hand into her right one, and he squeezed gently as he laced his fingers through hers. Then he brought his other hand to rest softly upon the small of her back and urged her to snake her arm around his shoulders. It was a messy sort of dancing position, mostly because they couldn't see one another, but it was comfortable and warm, and Hermione sighed against Severus' chest as he swayed her silently to the music.

"Is this what you wanted?" he mumbled into her ear, and she nodded against his buttons, hearing the way his heart accelerated a little.

She almost fell asleep against him, for it was peaceful and relaxing to feel his hand on her back and his heart against her ear. Knowing that no one could see them made her anxiety dissipate, and she enjoyed the gentle squeeze of his fingers against her palm as he rocked her back and forth in a lazy little dance.

But then the song ended, as all songs do, and she stepped back from him and whispered, "You will be missed in there… you ought to go back inside."

"You're probably right," he muttered with a twinge of regret. Hermione felt his hands grasp her waist once more and pull her near him, and then his fingers clumsily trailed up her torso in search of her cheeks. They cupped her face and Hermione gasped at the feel of it, trying not to moan when she sensed his mouth against hers in a warm, soft kiss.

Her head was spinning; her heart was racing. Her hands were reaching aimlessly in the darkness until they latched onto some bit of invisible fabric and held fast. His tongue was inside her mouth and his breath was hot on her face, but she could not see him. She whimpered softly as she felt him withdraw from her, as she felt the cool space between them that told her he had stepped away.

Then he appeared out of nowhere, as he reversed his Disillusionment Charm. Hermione glanced down and realized she was still camouflaged, and watched as Severus cast a sad little smirk back at the space where she stood. He chewed his lip thoughtfully and murmured,

"You know, you ought to keep yourself Disillusioned until you get back to your room."

Hermione felt herself frown in confusion as Severus started to walk away again, but then she heard him say quietly,

"With as lovely as you were tonight, I don't think I should like anyone else at all to see you. Goodnight, Hermione."


	4. Chapter 4

Severus trudged wearily through the Entrance Hall, trying desperately to avoid the slew of students who were chattering without care or notice of anyone around them.

"Oh, honestly, Cho… I think that eyeliner looks just perfect on you! The black would be far too much with your eyes. The dark blue looks much better, really!" Marietta Edgecombe giggled a bit as she brushed quickly past Severus, who let out a disgruntled sigh and glided farther away.

"Well, good," Cho Chang giggled nervously. "I hope you're right. Mandy Brocklehurst told me that it looked rather desperate."

"Mandy Brocklehurst is a twit," Marietta Edgecombe said snidely, "and she can shove that Wizarding Almanac she's been carrying round like a lovey straight up her cunny."

"Miss Edgecombe," Severus intoned dully, and Marietta whirled around with eyes round as saucers. Cho Chang's cheeks colored with embarrassment, and the two girls looked positively terrified as Severus continued, "ten points from Ravenclaw for your cat-like gossip and crass word choice, Miss Edgecombe. And the both of you have today's visit to Hogsmeade revoked. Back to Ravenclaw Tower at once, if you please."

"But, sir -" Cho Chang started to protest, and Severus knew it was because she hadn't been the one to name-call Mandy Brocklehurst. But he scowled cruelly down at the black-haired girl and sneered,

"Shall I make that a twenty-point deduction for insubordination, Miss Chang?"

"No, sir. Of course not."

The two girls pouted and flounced back into the castle, looking disappointed and angry, and Severus tried not to shrug as he approached the doorway where Argus Filch was checking departing students off of a list.

"Ernie Macmillan, Susan Bones. Go on. Colin Creevey... Leave. Eleanor Branstone, Laura Madley… go on, get out of here, then."

The wizened old squib was ticking names off with his quill one by one, looking cross and harried as Severus approached him.

"Argus," he acknowledged, his voice sounding bored to his own ears.

"Professor. Off to the Three Broomsticks, are we? Professors McGonagall and Flitwick have gone already; they'll be a few butterbeers ahead of you." Filch licked the nib of his quill and scratched a line on his parchment, squinting down at the paper with his pale eyes.

"In fact, I am committed to help supervise the additional Apparition lessons taking place in the village today," Severus sighed regretfully. He had been quite hesitant when Albus Dumbledore had requested he chaperone the practice, for Draco Malfoy was not old enough to test for Apparition at the end of April and would therefore not be attending the session. How was Severus to keep his Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa Malfoy if he could not properly supervise Draco?

"Ah, yes. Heard old Scrivenshaft had cleared out his shop today for the students," Filch nodded. "Brought your essence of dittany, have you? Bet you'll be clearing up one or two splinchings, then."

"Indeed." Severus frowned and nodded curtly. "Good day to you."

He breezed past the old caretaker and glided out of the castle, his dragon hide boots soundless on the stones as he made his way across the front yard and down the path that led off Hogwarts grounds and toward Hogsmeade village. There were small clumps of students that had been allowed their weekend trip, and Severus found himself searching the clusters for a particular frizzy head.

There she was, many yards ahead of him, with the ginger-headed Weasley on one side of her (who had Lavender Brown linked in his arm, thankfully) and Potter on her other. It looked as though Neville Longbottom was with them, and Luna Lovegood as well as Ginevra Weasley and Dean Thomas.

Hermione might have been lost in the gaggle of black robes, but Severus knew her caramel-colored hair well, and he recognized the way she was anxiously tossing her hands around as she spoke to the group surrounding her.

He felt his chest crumple a bit as he saw her walking with her young friends, realizing that the sight made him feel quite old… and unwanted. He should leave her be, he thought. Not just today, but all the time. The way he saw her now - surrounded by teenaged halfwits with hormone-fueled, immature, melodramatic existences - was perhaps the way she was meant to live. Severus could pretend all he wanted that she would be happier with him, that she was not like the rest of them… and, yet, there she was. Walking with them, talking with them. She _was_ one of them, whether he wished to admit it or not.

Though spring had solidly arrived according to the calendar, no one had seemed to inform the glen surrounding Hogwarts. The air was cool and a constant mist descended from the heavens, cloaking the hills in a gray gloom. The group in which Hermione walked was far enough ahead of Severus that they disappeared into the fog before him.

 _Precisely how delusional are you, Severus Snape?_

What exactly did he expect, anyway? That someday he'd walk into Hogsmeade with her on his arm, sit down in Madam Puddifoot's and discuss the Potions segment of the _Daily Prophet_ over a shared pot of strong black tea? Nonsense.

No one could ever know that he'd ravished her in his private quarters, that he'd given her a glass of elf-made wine and stared at her naked body and let her whisper his first name while he spilled himself inside of her. No one could ever know that, because he would be sacked, and she would be ridiculed. Worse than that… when the time came for him to kill Dumbledore, her life would be in jeopardy if anyone knew what she meant to him.

They would kill her, and in doing that they may as well kill him, too. Severus kicked at a small stone as he walked and furrowed his eyebrows. He abruptly found himself wishing very much that he did not care whether Hermione Granger was alive or dead. But he did care.

The village of Hogsmeade finally appeared through the mist, its High Street winding haphazardly around a bend down which Severus ambled to make his way to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. He pushed open the little grey door of the shop and found it bustling with sixth-year Apparition candidates, the floor space having been cleared out to make room for the lessons.

Mr. Pero Scrivenshaft leaned against his sales counter, watching the students curiously as he sipped at an old teacup. The old wizard was so tall he was hunched at the waist to lean on his own counter, and so thin his bones jutted out of his wrists almost grotesquely. His angular face was kept kindly by the presence of a thick, bushy white mustache and by the glitter in his teal eyes. He wore dusty-looking robes in a faded coral color, with a stamped gold feather pattern and a brocade trim.

Severus nodded politely at the store's proprietor and tried to manage a little smile of thanks when the man raised his hand in greeting. His expression probably looked more like a grimace, Severus thought, but he'd made an effort. He cast his eyes over the room and let his gaze settle on the other supervisor present - Wilkie Twycross, the Ministry instructor sent to teach the Hogwarts students Apparition.

"All right, there, Severus?" Twycross said, his voice reedy and thin. Severus frowned a bit at the man, who looked far older than Severus knew him to be. His hair was such a pale blonde it looked white, falling to his shoulders in thin, wispy curls that looked as though they might just dissolve into the air at any moment. His skin seemed thin as paper, and his eyes were so pale they almost looked transparent. The man was unnerving, even to Severus, who was regularly forced to endure the visual spectacle of the Dark Lord's new corporeal form.

"Good afternoon, Wilkie," Severus greeted the man in a low voice, trying to keep his distance.

"Well, I believe we are right on schedule," Twycross said. "Shall we begin, then? Students? Students!"

The sixth-years were completely ignoring him, chatting among themselves in small groups. No one broke from their conversations except for Hermione and Neville Longbottom, who dutifully turned to Twycross. Severus scowled.

"You will all either pay attention to your Ministry instructor," he barked loudly, and the room fell silent at once, "or none of you shall be proctored your Apparition exams. Pay attention, all of you."

Severus' authoritative bellow had rendered every student completely submissive, so Wilkie Twycross nervously cleared his throat and nodded. "Thank you, Professor Snape. Yes… I realize we are in rather tight quarters here today, so we shall be taking it in turns. We shall begin with the ladies, as is chivalrous and customary. Three goes in one place, my dears. Apparate anywhere you please within Hogsmeade - though, do try not to go anywhere you might land _on_ someone, or any such inconvenience. Then come straight back here. Do your best not to splinch, though of course Professor Snape and I are prepared for emergencies! Gentlemen, to the outside of the room, if you please, and I shall notify you when we are switching turns. Remember the three D's - Destination, Determination, and Deliberation! You may commence!"

The boys in the room grumbled as they made their way to the perimeter to wait their turns, whilst the girls tried to keep a safe distance from one another inside the open space. Black robes started swishing as the female students made concerted efforts to move in place and Apparate, but no one disappeared.

Severus watched Hermione settle into her spot. He reached into his trousers pocket and felt the bit of folded parchment there, sighing a bit to himself and wondering whether or not he should pull the paper out. Finally, he did, fingering the parchment nervously and tucking it into his palm.

He nonchalantly wandered the room, listening as Wilkie Twycross repeated his 'Three D's' over and over to the students who were desperately trying to vanish from the quill shop. Finally, with a small _crack_ , Daphne Greengrass Disapparated, and there was an audible, jealous gasp from the other girls. Severus cocked an eyebrow, more than a little proud that the first sixth-year to successfully leave the room had been a Slytherin. Even more happily, Daphne reappeared moments later, her face triumphant.

"Well done, Miss Greengrass," said Wilkie Twycross, who rushed over to pat Daphne upon her shoulder.

Severus took advantage of the subsequent small commotion to approach Hermione and surreptitiously slip her the bit of folded parchment.

"Go there," he murmured softly, "and you will find a letter in a windowsill. Read it and come back here."

He flicked the scrap of parchment out to her, holding it between his forefinger and middle finger, and she snatched it from him, looking around quickly to make sure no one was watching them. Severus walked off, barking sharply at Hannah Abbott to close her eyes and focus on her destination.

When he managed to steal a glance back at Hermione, she was staring down at the little bit of paper. Then he saw her stuff it into the pocket of her black robes and shut her eyes tightly, balling her fists at her sides. She rotated a bit to her right, and with a resounding _crack_ , she disappeared into thin air.

"Oh, well, it looks as though Miss Granger has successfully Disapparated, as well!" Wilkie Twycross exclaimed in his breathy, reedy voice. "Wonder where she's gone off to, then, eh? Madam Puddifoot's, perhaps? Tomes and Scrolls, more likely?"

Severus knew Hermione was nowhere near the tea shop. Nor was she in a bookshop. If she had gone where the little scrap of parchment had bade her, then she was on a dreary old street in Cokeworth, beside a filthy half-dried river… a forsaken little street called Spinner's End.

* * *

Hermione was whirling, spinning, flying through the air, faster than she could control herself. Her eyes were being squished her her ears were screaming like a freight train. Her organs felt contracted and her muscles felt horribly twisted. Then, with a sickening sort of crunch, it was over, and she landed in a crumpled heap upon her knees. She was suddenly overwhelmed with nausea, feeling quite as though she were going to heave up the contents of her stomach.

For a long moment, she did not even register that rain was falling upon her, nor that she was kneeling in the middle of a road. All she could focus on was the twirling in her head and the flip-flops in her stomach. At last, the queasiness subsided enough for her to rise shakily to her feet, and she stared around herself in a bit of alarm.

Wherever she was, it was darker than it had been in Hogsmeade. This was Cokeworth? This was unpleasant, is what it was. The houses were all lined up in a seemingly endless row of melancholy sameness. Bland brown brick rowhouses, one after the other, indistinguishable and dull, went on as far as Hermione could see. They stood two storeys tall with little garret windows sticking out of their rain-slicked slanted roofs. They were sad little houses with no visible decorations.

The street smelled like mud, like rubbish and smoke, and through an alley between two houses Hermione could see a dirty river streaming by with bits of garbage strewn in it. The only living things in sight were the few sparse weeds springing up in the cracks on the sidewalks, around which muddly black streams of rainwater flowed. Hermione sighed and pulled the little scrap of parchment from her black school robe again, checking the address, and walked past a broken street lamp in search of house. Finally, she found it, sitting there among its identical neighbors. She stood in front of it for a long while, getting thoroughly soaked by the rain.

She knew at once why Severus had sent her here. This was where he lived. And if this was where he lived, then this was where he had grown up, for no adult in his right mind would _choose_ a home somewhere such as this - not even a man as dour as Severus Snape. Hermione frowned at the notion of a childhood spent somewhere so depressing as she pushed aside the creaky wrought-iron gate in front of the house and stepped through the empty front garden up to the doorway.

In the windowsill, there was a small envelope, miraculously dry despite the rain. She knew he must have charmed it to stay dry, and she yanked it out of the window frame and noted the script 'HG' upon the outside with a little smirk.

Knowing full well that everyone was expecting her back in Hogsmeade, Hermione hurried to open the letter and saw a blank sheet of paper. She scowled deeply and pulled out her wand, glancing furtively around to make sure no one was watching her. There were too many windows; anyone could see her. She turned her back to the other houses, facing the door, and tried to hide her wand, whispering,

" _Aparecium._ "

Nothing happened. Hermione felt her heart race with anxiety. _Think, Hermione_ , she scolded herself. What other Revealing Charms did she know? She pointed her wand once more at the paper and rattled off all of them she could think of.

" _Ostensum! Probo scriptura. Visibilium! Intenebris…_ Oh, for crying out loud... _Nuncatramentum!"_

The last charm, an old incantation Hermione remembered reading in an out-of-print spellbook, suddenly made ink appear on the page as if it were seeping directly out of the parchment. The black handwriting, spindly and neat, was visible at last.

" _Hermione,_

 _If you are reading this, then I am very glad you remember reading Levina Monkstanley's_ _Charms For Challenging Circumstances_ _, which has been out-of-print since 1779 and thus exists in a single weathered copy somewhere in a back corner of the Hogwarts library._

 _In any case, I want you to know that this bleak place is safer than it seems. Plots are in motion even now that will serve to make the world an exceedingly dangerous place for you. Places that once seemed havens of friendship and shelters of alliance will now become targets for violence._

 _You as an individual will be sought out for registration, wand confiscation, and soon enough far worse than that. I tell you this because I wish for none of this to befall you. As we have discussed, I am beholden to promises and pacts that will paint me as a villain. But even after the world has cast me as wicked, I wish for you to know three things._

 _First - You must know that anything and everything I do is done with the end goal of goodness. I am aware that such a word - 'goodness' - may sound trite and shallow from a man such as myself. But I do not wish evil on anyone, least of all you. No matter what any of it looks like, no matter how any of it seems, I am on your side._

 _Second - I wish for you to know that the home before you is mine, and that you may always come here if you feel unsafe. Attached to this letter is a list of spells that will deactivate the house wards and allow you entry. When the world starts to close in around you, when hate and villainy leave you nowhere else to go… please know that I shall do anything in my power to keep you safe. Even if I am not here, there will be strategies in place to protect you._

 _Finally, know that at the end of all of this, no matter what comes of it, there was a man called Severus Snape who cared very deeply for you. Whether any of us are alive or dead, in Azkaban or together or thousands of miles apart, whether you despise me forever or never see me again, I suppose it does not matter. And, truly, I hardly care what the world thinks of me after all is said and done._

 _All that I wish very much for you to remember of me is this: that I was a cold, dark man with a cold, black heart that was somehow warmed by the sight of your eyes and the sound of your voice… that I found myself amazed by your intelligence and baffled by your magnetism._

 _And, when someday you're living happily on after this disgraceful war has ended, I only hope you shall think back upon one thing. I hope you shall know that I loved someone, once very long ago, and I thought that I could never love anyone again. I was wrong. Remember, Hermione Jean Granger, after all of this dreadfulness is done, that a man called Severus Snape loved you._

 _Now close your eyes, and think very hard of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. Remember your Three D's._

Hermione folded up the parchment, roughly swiping at her eyes as she turned away from the doorway. She stared into the window on the upper level of the shabby home, wondering if that was the bedroom where Severus had spent his childhood. But she had no more time to linger. She whimpered quietly and shut her eyes hard, concentrating on the quill shop in Hogsmeade. Then she was whirling and squeezing and buzzing again, and the dirty little street in the midlands was gone.

* * *

"Difficult one there, eh?"

Hermione jumped at Harry's words and turned to him with wide eyes. "I'm sorry?" she whispered in response, dropping her quill. Harry looked alarmed at her response.

"Erm… it's just that you've been staring at that problem for quite a long time," he mumbled, gesturing down to her parchment, where a half-finished arithmancy problem was waiting. "I just thought perhaps it was a particularly difficult set of numbers is all."

"Oh… yes, so it is." Hermione scrambled for her quill, feeling her cheeks color. She set to finishing the equation, trying to shove aside the thoughts that had been bothering her since returning from Hogsmeade that afternoon. She and Harry had settled into a small table in the Gryffindor common room as the sun was going down, and Hermione had sprawled her arithmancy homework out and tried to focus on the numbers in front of her. But her mind had returned again and again to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

She had Disapparated from Spinner's End and landed hard on her knees in the middle of the floor in the quill shop, to the sound of alarmed gasps from her fellow sixth-year girls.

"There you are, Hermione!" Parvati Patil had exclaimed, coming over and fretting over Hermione as she helped her fellow Gryffindor off the ground. "We were worried sick when you were gone for so long. Padma was just about to go and start looking for you, but Professor Snape said -"

"I insisted that if you had managed to Disapparate without splinching any of yourself behind, then you were probably quite fine wherever you were," Hermione had heard Severus say. She'd looked up to see him standing with his wand clenched tightly in his hand, between Wilkie Twycross and Pero Scrivenshaft. Severus looked far calmer than the elder wizards, who each looked as alarmed as the students at Hermione's extended absence.

"Oh… I'm very sorry," Hermione had murmured. "I Apparated to… erm… to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. And I had difficulty coming back. But I made it!" She'd grinned triumphantly and held her hands up as if to invite praise, and Parvati Patil had sighed with relief. Some of the tension had gone from the room then, and Hermione had tried to avoid Severus' black eyes for the rest of the lesson.

She'd walked back to Hogwarts with Ron, and they'd met up with Harry, who had spent the afternoon walking about with Ginny, apparently. Now, Hermione tried desperately to focus on her homework, but found herself entirely unable. All she could think about was Severus.

He loved her.

That was what the note had said, wasn't it?

' _Remember, Hermione Jean Granger, after all of this dreadfulness is done, that a man called Severus Snape loved you.'_

Her heart had ached after reading that. If Hermione was honest with herself, the feeling in her chest had skipped heartache and had gone straight to a terrible, raw sort of pain that ripped and seared its way straight through her. There was to be disaster, he was saying, for himself and for her and for all of wizardkind. Moreover, he believed that his actions would be wicked enough to make her hate him.

But he loved her. For whatever reason, right now to Hermione none of the rest mattered.

 _You as an individual will be sought out for registration, wand confiscation, and soon enough far worse than that._ He had warned her that doom was headed straight for her like a tempest on a sea. But she could scarcely force her heart to be afraid, for he had confessed to her at the end of the letter that he loved her.

What could he possibly do that would make her hate him? He could kill Harry. She might try to hate him for that. But why would he do such a thing? Beyond being undeniably evil, it would be unequivocally counterproductive for the cause of good. And he had argued vehemently that he was on the side of good, no matter what. He might torture her, under orders from Voldemort. That would be difficult to endure, and difficult to forgive.

There were all sorts of people Severus might have to blot out on the path to righteousness, Hermione thought. But, then, terrible things happened to very good people in times such as these. Whether or not a person had volunteered for martyrdom ultimately did not matter; war only agreed to so many rules at its core.

 _No,_ she told herself firmly. _I could never hate him_. _There is nothing he could do - no one he could destroy - that could paint him over so blackly in my mind_.

He had made himself a home in her heart, and it was his forever, no matter how his actions chipped away at it.

Did she love him back? She had absolutely no idea. She had less of an idea about that than she'd ever had about anything. No library in the world contained enough research to inform her heart on how she felt about Severus Snape.

"Merlin! Thought I'd never get away!" Ron Weasley collapsed into the chair beside Harry and plunked his Potions textbook down upon the table with an obnoxious sigh.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, frowning at his ginger friend. Hermione cocked an eyebrow, trying to look concerned. Ron sighed again, rather melodramatically. He glanced about the Gryffindor furtively and leaned forward before murmuring,

"It's Lavender! I've had enough, I'm telling you! She's snogged my face properly off. You know me, 'Mione; I'm not exactly one to fixate on homework. But I've got to get this Potions essay written for Slughorn or I'm not going to pass the class, eh? All she wanted to do the entire rest of the night was kiss my lips until they were dead chapped. I finally got away from her when she made a move for the placket of my trousers."

"Ronald! That is _entirely_ too much information!" Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust whilst Harry chuckled immaturely beside Ron. The red-haired boy's cheeks colored, embarrassed, and he opened his Potions text and began flipping through it.

"I suppose you've finished your essay, then," he grumbled at Hermione. She frowned deeply and turned her attention back to her Arithmancy problem.

"Of course I have," she said firmly. "I wrote it days ago."

"'Course you did," Ron clipped. "And you, Harry?"

"Erm… haven't started it yet," Harry admitted, and he reached in his rucksack for the Half-Blood Prince's copy of _Advanced Potions-Making._ Hermione scowled as the boys started searching through the text. It thoroughly irritated her that they were able to obtain cheats and easy answers rather than having to work at Slughorn's subject material this entire year, and she narrowed her eyes in anger.

"Look. Here it is," Ron pointed to a margin, making Harry stop flipping pages. "Pepperup Potion. ' _Invented in 1807 by famed Potions Master Glover Hipworth, Pepperup Potion works by activating the immune system and elevating body temperature to rapidly accelerate the body's ability to fight the common cold. The potion utilizes bicorn horn, mandrake root, peppermint leaves, black elder flowers, rosemary, ground ginger, lemon juice, white vinegar, and unicorn blood. The potion may be strengthened to create Grand Pepperup Potion (for use with much stronger infections) by the addition of Octopus Powder. The most well-known side-effect of Pepperup Potion is the emission of steam from the ears for several hours after administration.'_ All right, then, Harry; what's the assignment?"

"Slughorn wants us to write a paragraph on how to counteract the steam-from-the-ears issue," Harry told Ron. "If you look here, in the margins, the Half-Blood Prince has scrawled a few things of note…"

Hermione began to feel outraged. She'd done thorough research for her own essay on the matter, having perused spellbooks and determined that the best way to counteract Pepperup Potion steam was by casting a Vapor-Dispelling Charm upon the patient. The potion administrator would simply have to wave his or her wand in a figure-eight pattern and mutter, ' _fumusvale_ ,' and for several hours any steam or smoke in the vicinity of the patient would dissipate comfortably. However, Hermione had had to dig up this spell from an old, dusty charms book in the library. Here were Harry and Ron mindlessly reading the musings of the Half-Blood Prince.

"So, he says that one must simply add twice as much peppermint and a gram of camphor to the potion. This will have a cooling effect on the potion itself whilst maintaining the healing effect upon the patient. No steam!" Harry started scratching upon his parchment with his quill as Ron beamed impishly up at the irate Hermione.

"Give that damned book this instant!" she growled, reaching across the table and snatching the Potions text from the boys. She scanned her eyes quickly over the margins, angry that they could so quickly find a workaround when she had had to research for hours to write her own paragraph. Then, just as suddenly as she'd grown angry, she felt her heart leap in her chest and her breath hitch in her throat. Her grip loosened upon the spine of the textbook and she nearly dropped it, and she gasped with a little whimper of distress.

"What is it?" Ron actually sounded worried, and Harry looked up from his parchment.

Hermione flew up from her chair, clutching the textbook tightly to her chest, and began backing away from her friends. She pulled her wand out of her pocket and curled up her lip.  
"Do not follow me," she said softly to them. "Just stay here. I… I shall speak to you both tomorrow."

"What the devil is going on, Hermione?" Harry started to stand, holding his hands up and looking almost frightened, whilst Ron furrowed his eyebrows in abject confusion where he sat. Hermione continued backing away toward the portrait hole, and she actually found herself pointing her wand at Harry.

"Do not follow me, Harry," she said again. "I do not want to hex you. Just stay here with Ron. I will… I will explain everything once I understand it for myself. Use Ron's book for the essay, won't you? Oh… erm… a Vapor-Dispelling Charm. ' _Fumusvale.'_ That would stop the Pepperup steam. Just write that, all right?"

She turned and started walking briskly toward the portrait hole, still clutching the Potions book, ignoring Ron Weasley as he meekly said behind her,

"You've left all your Arithmancy work here, 'Mione."

* * *

Severus rather despised office hours, particularly on weekends. They seemed to be an excuse for poor students to receive extra assistance on assignments they ought to be capable of completing on their own. If a student was unable to write an essay without the help of a book, the librarian, elder students, or Severus himself during school hours… then it probably wasn't going to be a good essay no matter what.

But he was required to hold office hours by Hogwarts school policy, and so he had done so every Sunday evening from seven-thirty to nine o'clock for the past fifteen years. There had been rare interruptions to this schedule, but students could could fairly reliably on finding Professor Severus Snape in his office in the dungeons on a Sunday evening, waiting and (at least pretending to be) willing to answer questions about assignments.

In between students, he graded papers, read the _Daily Prophet_ or a good book, or listened to old music on the wizarding wireless. Sometimes he sat at his desk with his hands folded calmly upon the smooth wood and stared at the door for an hour while nobody came, and then rose with a bored sigh and made his way silently back into his private quarters.

Tonight, he'd been bothered with a personal dispute between two fourth-year Slytherin females who were unable to resolve their differences in the dormitory. One girl snored loudly, apparently, and the other was a very light sleeper. Severus had listened to their inane, cattish bickering for a solid four minutes in his office before finally cutting them off.

"Miss Greengrass, you shall cast a Restfulness charm around your own bed. _Requies_ should do the trick," he insisted, glaring sharply at Astoria Greengrass, the one who'd been complaining that she was a light sleeper. The wispy little girl had nodded haughtily, especially when Severus had turned to the rather pig-faced girl beside her, Agnes Ronca, and said harshly,

"Miss Ronca, I suggest taking two drops of _this_ before bed nightly. In perpetuity." He reached for his wand and wordlessly Summoned an anti-snoring potion from the shelves in his office, sliding it across his desk at the red-cheeked, stout girl, who frowned at the vial. "Now, if that is all, ladies?"

They'd left after that, thankfully, though Severus had then been pestered by a first-year Hufflepuff who'd shoved a dreadful half-finished essay (due two days later) toward him. She'd nearly sobbed as she complained that she was at her wit's end with finding research sources on cursed socks and shoes. Severus had rolled his eyes and managed to stop ticking off grammatical errors in the essay with his quill long enough to jot down a recommended book list and send the idiotic girl on her way to the library.

He put his hands and flicked his wand toward the wizarding radio, relishing the relaxing sounds of violins and piano as they fizzed through the speaker. It was five minutes to nine; surely no more students would be coming by tonight. Severus began gathering up the loose parchments and quills upon his desk and preparing to tuck in for the night. The long walk to and from Hogsmeade in the cool mist had set his bones to creaking; he wanted a hot shower before bed tonight.

Before he could ward the door from his office to the Potions Corridor and escape to his private quarters, Severus was shocked by the office door flying open and the sight of Hermione Granger storming unannounced into the room.

"Good evening, Miss Granger…" Severus glanced furtively beyond her breathless, pink-cheeked form, trying to see if anyone was with her.

"Oh, don't ' _Miss Granger_ ' me!" she exclaimed, slamming the door shut behind her and huffing as she anxiously stood beside Severus' desk.

He furrowed his eyebrows at her, concerned now and trying to figure out what exactly he had down to make her so angry with him. Had she not seen his note for her in Spinner's End, he wondered? The one where he'd told her that his home would be available for her to keep her safe? The one where he told her that he loved her?

Or perhaps _that_ was precisely the problem, Severus thought with a sudden pang of worry. Perhaps she was irate with him for using that word. It would scarcely be the first time a woman in his life had spurned his advances. Severus swallowed heavily and took a little step away from her, flicking his wand delicately toward the radio to silence it and then pointing it at the door. He locked and warded it silently and then murmured,

" _Muffliato_."

"Ah, yes!" Hermione shouted at him, pointing her finger in an accusatory manner. Severus scowled, confused, but Hermione continued, "I _knew_ I'd seen that spell somewhere before when I last heard you cast it. I'd only seen it once. _Here._ "

She suddenly tossed the book she'd been clutching to her chest down upon his desk. Severus stared for a long moment at the weathered copy of _Advanced Potions-Making -_ his own copy, he recognized at once.

He was able to keep his face relatively still and emotionless, a skill that had served him well for many years, for some time. Then Hermione reached into the pocket of her black school robe and tore forth a folded bit of parchment - the letter from Spinner's End. She threw the parchment down beside the book and then set about unfolding it roughly, so hastily that Severus absently worried she would tear the paper. She patted the paper to flatten it, and Severus saw a few of his own scrawled words pop out in dark black ink.

' _I am very glad you remember reading Levina Monkstanley's -'_

' _such a word - 'goodness' - may sound trite and shallow from -'_

' _I was a cold, dark man with a cold, black heart -'_

' _a man called Severus Snape loved you.'_

He felt a sickening twist in his stomach as he realized she had been carrying that letter around all afternoon, a parchment full of his maudlin emotional diatribe. He blinked hard as acid humiliation welled up in his throat, and Hermione flung open the worn cover of the Potions textbook to a random page full of marginal notations. She jabbed her finger from the textbook to the letter and back again, glaring up at Severus.

"Would you care to explain to me," she hissed, "how it is that the script in your letter is _identical_ to the script in the textbook Harry has been using to _cheat_ all year in Potions class?"

Severus frowned and huffed out a bit of air. "Potter has been cheating in Potions using my textbook?" he blurted, quickly realizing what a mistake he'd made. Hermione's eyes went wide at once, and Severus pinched his lips.

"You… _you're_ the Half-Blood Prince?" Hermione whispered, suddenly taking a step away from him. "All the changes to the potions… the made-up spells… hexes, curses? Prince? What is that?"

She had gone from irate to curious in a moment flat, so Severus sighed patiently and explained, "My mother was called Eileen Prince. My father was a Muggle, so I nicknamed myself the 'Half-Blood Prince.' It is an easy thing to do, perhaps, when one is constantly tormented by classmates, to assign oneself a rather heroic moniker and cloak oneself with mythical glory and honor."

"So this… this was your Potions textbook?" Hermione was breathless now, and she took a few steps back to the desk and began running her fingertips over the pages of the book. She was breathing rather heavily through her nostrils, but she still looked angry.

"Yes, it was. It was my mother's first, actually, when she was a student here. She handed it down to me, so it was old even when it was mine. I made annotations where I saw fit, and wrote in some spells I made up as a student. I kept the book after I graduated and stored it here when I was hired as a teacher. Once Horace Slughorn took over for me, I suppose I left it in a cabinet in the Potions room. I had no idea Potter had nicked it for his own, though I suppose I should hardly be surprised that the spawn of James Potter somehow found a way to deceive others into being convinced of his academic brilliance."

"Well, it's been right infuriating!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands up in anger. "All bloody year he's been Slughorn's pet creature, making everything straight from your notes, and Slughorn keeps going on about how Harry must have inherited his mother's brilliance for the subject."

"Hm. Yes, well… Lily Evans was quite a good hand at Potions," Severus said brusquely, feeling rather uncomfortable discussing Lily to any capacity in Hermione's presence. He felt guilty for some reason as Lily's red-haired face pushed her way into his head, and she shut his eyes for a moment, apologizing to the ghost of Lily's memory as he shunned her away. He cleared his throat and spoke again. "Harry Potter is _not_ a gifted Potioneer, and if Horace Slughorn had spent the past six years instructing him, he would have become suspicious by the boy's very sudden genius in the classroom."

He paused and stared at Hermione. She had her arms crossed over her chest and was gazing down at the book and the letter, and in her chestnut eyes Severus could see a deeply disturbed expression.

"Well, now you know," he mumbled awkwardly. "Potter stole my textbook. What of it, then?"

"And… and what of the letter?" she asked quietly, still staring down at the paper. Severus felt himself shrug, forcing nonchalance, and shook his head.

"What of the letter?" he repeated.

"What did you mean, _exactly_?" she demanded, and Severus suddenly felt rather frustrated with her. He thought he had been anything but brief in the the letter. He had been more emotional than he was wont to be, and he did not particularly care to elaborate more than he'd done. There had been a reason he'd expressed himself in the written word.

"I had been led to belief you were a literate witch, Hermione," Severus said sharply, with perhaps more barb than he had intended. When she glared up at him, brow crumpled with hurt, he found himself carrying on, "You managed to reveal the ink; did you manage to read the words or I shall I read them aloud for you?"

"You needn't be cruel," Hermione whispered to him, snatching the letter from the desk and folding it up quickly before stuffing it into her robe. She sniffed a little and lowered her eyes to the floor. "I have no idea who you plan on hurting, Severus Snape, or what terrible things people are going to make you do. But I have conjured up just about every hideous scenario that my mind can imagine, and every single one ends with me terribly loyal to you, no matter how hard I try to hate you."

Severus felt an odd knot in his throat suddenly, found himself abruptly short of breath, and leaned on his desk for a bit of support. "I…" he began, but could not finish. Hermione shook her head a little and continued,

"You say you will try to keep me safe no matter what 'they' do to me. I only know who some of 'them' are, and I know 'them' to be very terrifying indeed. So I know I should be afraid. But I also know that you are a very powerful wizard, and if you trying even a little bit to protect me, then I shall probably be just fine. And so I find myself rather foolishly fearless."

He stepped toward her, reaching to cup her jaw in his slender hand. She shut her eyes against his touch.

"Look at me, Hermione," he murmured, and she did, her eyelids fluttering open. He spoke again, whispering, "I meant every word in that letter. Every word."

* * *

His lips were trailing fire over her skin as he pressed her body against the cold stone wall. Hermione didn't even register the hard discomfort of the bricks behind her, for his calloused lips were so delicious as they dragged down her neck that she wanted nothing more in all the world than for him to _keep going, keep kissing_ , and she groaned softly as her fingers frantically worked at the buttons on his frock coat. She felt clumsy and inept, like the buttons were fighting back, but soon enough she was pushing the coat off of his shoulders and it landed with a soft flutter on the cobblestone floor.

She ripped at the tails of his shirt, urging them out of his trousers, and desperately tried to get the placket there undone as his hands sailed around her chest and his lips worked their way back to meet her mouth. He tasted like cinnamon, like honey and peppermint, and she greedily kissed him back, dragging her tongue over the roof of his mouth and moaning wantonly into his throat.

She needed him, _now_ , with an urgency her body had never known before, and before she knew what was happening his hand was pressed against her lower abdomen and she could hear him whispering, " _Breviter sterilitatem,_ " and she shivered with desire as she realized he intended to take her right here up against the wall. She anxiously kicked off her flat black shoes and shoved her thumbs under the waistline of her panties, urging them over her lean thighs and down her legs until she could kick them away. She still had on her skirt and jumper and even her robe, but she didn't care. He could enter her and kiss her and touch her, and that was all that mattered right now.

Hermione shut her eyes, dizzy and drunk from her want of him, and whispered his name over and over as he pawed at her waist and breast and kissed her neck.

Then she heard him murmur against her skin, "I meant it, Hermione. That time when I told you that you are beautiful… I meant it then, because it is true. You are beautiful."

She distantly remembered him telling her that - the first time he'd taken her, in his soft bed. _Just through that door over there_ , she thought rather bitterly, as she finally registered how uncomfortable the stone wall was.

Severus shifted his kiss to the other side of her neck and continued murmuring, his breath hot as it sent a rush of moisture straight between Hermione's legs,

"And I meant it when I said I wanted you to stay alive… when I said I would keep you safe."

Then he raised his face to stare Hermione straight in the eye, his raven gaze boring directly into her soul as his strong hands wrapped around her waist and gripped her tightly. She gasped a bit as he hoisted her up and urged her to wrap her legs around his waist, and he grunted as he arranged her thighs to grip his hips tightly. Then he hissed through his teeth as he guided his member from his opened trousers and aligned it with her sopping entrance. He raised his heavily-lidded black eyes to Hermione again and sank his teeth into his bottom lip before he drawled,

"I meant it when I said I loved you. I do. I love you."

He pushed into her then, and Hermione cried out in a mix of agony and delight, her hands grabbing frantically at Severus' shoulders for support. She drove her head back painfully against the stone wall, her hair grinding against the grit of the bricks, and wrenched her eyes shut. Her fingers dug into the thin white material of Severus' dress shirt, and a breathy keen leaked through her clenched teeth as she felt the walls of her womanhood tense, still unused to the invasion of his girth.

His mouth was warm by her ear as she heard his whisper. "You are infuriating, and I meant it just as much when I told you those years ago that you were an insufferable know-it-all. You were then. You still are." He kissed the skin just below her ear delicately, and Hermione felt the corners of her lips turn up into a wicked little grin at his words. He kept mumbling at her in his silky voice, even as he pulled his cock out and pushed it back in roughly, over and over again, like a fiery piston. "You drive me mad with your incessant regurgitation of facts, with your insistence on answering every damned question ever posed, even if it was not even remotely asked of _you_."

She smirked as he drove into her, feeling his strong hands grasp her waist tightly as his length pounded her hard against the stone wall. She would be very sore from all of this, she knew, but she did not remotely care.

"And, yet," Severus continued relentlessly, "I find myself absolutely enamored with your mind, Hermione Jean Granger. You are far and away the cleverest human being I have ever encountered, and that is very beautiful indeed. And your eyes…"

He pulled his face away from her neck so that he could stare at her again with his own eyes, black as coal, and he whispered, "If I were to become forever lost in your eyes, I would not mind one bit, for I would have become eternally lost in paradise."

Hermione felt herself melt against the wall, unable to speak as he ground his hips up against her and pushed her closer to her edge. She was gasping, mewling, and all she knew in that moment was a deep and relentless passion for him.

"Severus," she managed to croak, just before tumbling into the abyss of pleasure, but she did not hear if he answered her. She collapsed against him, feeling her walls clenching tightly and erratically around him, hearing her ears ringing loudly, feeling heat flush through her like a wildfire. There was a flash of black before her, and she heard her voice cry out as if coming from somewhere else.

"Good girl…" she heard him whisper into her ear, prolonging her ecstasy, and then there were a few quick bucks of his hips into her before he spilled himself and found his own zenith.

Five minutes later, she'd been magically siphoned of his fluids and had relocated her panties. She watched as Severus picked his frock coat up off of the floor and half-expected him to fling it over his shoulders and start buttoning it up. She expected awkwardness, like there always was between them after something like this. There was always passion, and beautiful speech, and then the inevitable breakdown of _whatever-we-fooled-ourselves-into-believing-we-are_ and the terrible return to the status quo.

But tonight was different. Severus did not stiffen and cast a severe shadow over his face as he normally did after being physical with her. He did not brusquely bid her farewell, nor demand an explanation. Instead, he glanced at the clock upon his desk and said rather gently,

"It is only a quarter past nine. Will you stay with me a while and visit? Have some tea?" He jerked his head toward the door that led to his private quarters, and Hermione felt a happy little smile come over her face.

She had no notion whatsoever of how long it would be before Severus would be forced away from her by circumstance. But with whatever time she had left with him… "Tea would be grand."

* * *

Severus was late. Very late. His Dark Mark had been on fire for over an hour now, but since it had been in the middle of breakfast when the burning had begun, Severus had found himself quite unable to escape from the Great Hall inconspicuously.

He had attempted, for some time, to appear nonchalant as he spooned porridge into his mouth. But after a while, the searing heat on his arm started to make his hands shake, and the spoon was visibly quivering as he steered it toward his lips. So he simply sat at the staff table in anxious silence, grateful that he did not have any morning lessons to teach this morning. He yanked out his pocket-watch and examined it. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes until they'd all file out of here and wander off to wherever they were going, and then Severus could make his way to the Apparition Point.

A half hour later, he was rushing through the front gates of Malfoy Manor, wondering what would prompt a Summons in the middle of the morning. He dashed silently up the marble staircase, hearing the low murmur of voices in the meeting room above, and paused at the top of the stairs when he saw that the dining room table was already full of seated figures.

Most were cloaked in dark fabric, but one stood out like a sore thumb. She wore a suit of salmon-colored raw silk, and her hair was coiffed into a stiff mushroom cap.

" _Hem-hem."_ Dolores Umbridge coughed in a shrill little falsetto, interrupting the low murmur of Yaxley, who had been speaking quietly to the group. Everyone turned at the sound of her cough, and subsequent jerk of her toad-like face, toward where Severus stood.

Lord Voldemort's reptilian face curled over his bony shoulder from where he sat at the head of the table, and he glared at Severus.

"How good of you to join us, Severus," Voldemort said coolly. Severus narrowed his eyes toward Dolores Umbridge, extremely confused by the woman's presence, and then flicked his gaze back to Voldemort, feigning reverence and sorrow.

"My sincere apologies, My Lord," he intoned, inclining his head as he stepped carefully into the room. "It can be very difficult to make an unobtrusive exit from Hogwarts at this time of day."

"I see," Voldemort said smoothly. "Please. Sit."

He gestured slickly toward the only empty chair at the table, which was - conveniently - beside Umbridge. Severus sank into the chair with a sinking feeling of dread, trying hard not to sneer at the pink-swathed demon woman beside him. He stayed silent, feeling relatively confident that Umbridge's odd presence at a Death Eater meeting would be explained to him.

"I suppose you are wondering why it is that Madam Umbridge has joined us here today," Lord Voldemort began, addressing Severus' unasked question and almost certainly those of the others around the table.

Indeed, when Severus looked around, he noticed that everyone else was regarding Dolores Umbridge with looks ranging from distrust to outright discomfort. Bellatrix Lestrange was twirling her crooked wand in her fingers and looked bored, while Crabbe was eyeing the Pink Woman with a certain degree of fear. Umbridge looked completely unfazed, sitting with her hands primly folded upon the dining room table and gazing with overdone politeness at Voldemort.

"As all of you know, plans are already in motion to overthrow the Ministry of Magic," Voldemort continued, and no one flinched, since this was not news. "When this comes to be, the first order of business shall be the creation of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, whose purpose, of course, will be the detection of and proper… _processing_ … of all Muggle-borns and blood traitors."

Severus felt a strong clench of discomfort in his gut as he was acutely reminded of the ultimate goal of all of this, especially since his mind raced immediately to Hermione. He shut his eyes for a moment and tried not to think of her, lest the Dark Lord suddenly invade his consciousness.

"To that end," he heard Voldemort saying, "Dolores Umbridge will be installed as the Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. There, she will oversee the handling of the Mudbloods. Dolores has demonstrated remarkable acumen when it comes to… ah, _ruthlessness_ when it comes to matters such as these. You can surely speak to that, eh, Severus?"

Severus resisted the urge to visibly cringe as he vividly remembered being taunted by Dolores Umbridge during her tenure as Hogwarts Headmistress. He cleared his throat rather delicately and said, without looking at the woman, "I'm certain she will be quite thorough in handling the Muggle-born population to your satisfaction, My Lord."

There was absolutely nothing untrue in those words, Severus considered.

"If I may," Umbridge suddenly simpered, holding up a single finger in the air and grinning cloyingly around the table, "I wish to extend a most _heartfelt_ thanks to all of you for inviting me today."

No one sitting around the table, save for Lord Voldemort, had invited Dolores Umbridge, Severus thought. But she continued talking just the same, in her disgusting little whimper.

"As you all know, there is _no greater threat_ to the Magical community than the presence of Mudbloods! Indeed, these Thieves of Magic have so thoroughly infiltrated us that we must eradicate them for the plague they are. We must find them all, pluck them out like the most vile of weeds. We shall find suitable replacements for those who have managed to weasel their way into the Ministry of Magic or into our market economy. We shall confiscate and snap their wands, rendering the Mudbloods back to their original forms - without magic."

Severus felt his ears grow hot at Umbridge's words. Muggle-borns had no inherent magic, eh? Then how exactly was it that Hermione Granger was able to summon all her magic into a core of power and fire off spells with neither incantation nor wand? Severus silently ground his teeth and listened as Dolores Umbridge continued to drone on in her high-pitched, simpering voice.

"Our very first steps shall involve the publication of brochures and pamphlets to encourage the pureblood and half-blood community to hand over any known Mudbloods to the Ministry of Magic for registry, branding, and wand confiscation. Eventually, as you all know, the plans are for Mudblood enslavement, sterilization, and culling at the discovery of Magic Theft."

Severus felt ill, genuinely ill, as though he would be sick upon the dining room table. He could not keep the horrid visions of Hermione's arm, branded and scarred, from his mind. He could not keep the thoughts of her body, tortured by Bellatrix's dirt-extracting spell, out of his head. Nor could he cast aside terrible images of her face criss-crossed with black-stained veins. They would make her a slave, destroy her body, and then kill her when they tired of her.

No. No, they wouldn't, for Severus had trained her to protect herself. She would run away, somewhere far where they could never catch her, but first she would hurl hexes at them and leave them all baffled by her power. Wouldn't she? She would be safe… wouldn't she?

"Severus?"

He hadn't realized that Dolores Umbridge had asked him a question.

"I'm sorry?" He clasped his hands together upon the table top and glanced sideways at the pouting, toad-faced woman, who was scowling at him along with Voldemort.

"I said, Severus, I have heard that you have caused the Mudblood Granger girl to ingratiate herself to you in order to gain information. I shall require her after the overthrow of the Ministry, of course… it would be enormously helpful if you assisted in handing her over. I anticipate she would make it otherwise… _difficult_ … to properly handle her case. She was always rather a problem for me, eh?"

"Of course," Severus nodded.

"Yes, Severus…" Voldemort cocked an eyebrow at Severus and smirked. "Are you having fun with your little Mudblood toy?"

"As much as one might enjoy himself with a young woman as… bookish and dry… as Hermione Granger," Severus heard his voice say, and he clenched his hands more tightly together. To his right, Yaxley chuckled under his breath, and Severus felt another surge of nausea. The Dark Lord wanted filthy details, here, in front of everyone. He licked his bottom lip and lowered his eyes before muttering, "She is adequately satisfying, My Lord, given her youth and eagerness. I have recently learnt from her that Potter has Hogwarts house-elves trailing Draco Malfoy. Potter suspects that Draco is up to something, though he has no specific idea of what, precisely. Certainly he does not know that Draco is plotting the death of Albus Dumbledore, and the house-elves are unable to divulge many details. Nonetheless, Potter is manipulating the elves in an attempt to spy on Draco."

"And the Mudblood girl told you this in the throes of passion, did she?" Yaxley asked with a low laugh. Several other Death-Eaters gave rumbling chuckles around the table, and Severus felt his cheeks color. Beside him, Dolores Umbridge looked happy as ever.

"The girl's words flow far more freely after some elf-made wine and a bit of physical attention, My Lord," Severus said firmly. He cocked his head toward Umbridge. "Naturally, I shall hand her over whenever you ask it, but for the time being, she is proving herself a valuable source of information given her proximity to Potter."

"Well, as long as Potter lives, then you can keep your little Mudblood slut," Voldemort said with a mocking sneer, dragging his long fingernails around the smooth dining room table in a swirl, "but at the moment she can no longer provide useful information, give her to Dolores and she shall be processed with the rest of the Mudbloods."

"Of course, My Lord."

"That will be all for you today, Severus. Go and teach your pupils how to defend themselves against the Dark Arts, won't you?" Voldemort smiled wickedly at Severus and flicked his hand dismissively. Severus nodded and rose slowly from his chair, leaving the dining room, and Dolores Umbridge, behind.

* * *

"Blimey! Sorry, Hermione!"

Hermione huffed rather angrily as two Hufflepuff girls plowed headlong into her in the corridor. They'd not been watching where they were going, too engrossed in their conversation with one another, and though Hermione had tried to dodge them, the impact had been like walking into a wall. Hermione's arm load of books had tumbled to the ground, along with ten or so sheets of loose parchment and a handful of quills. Hermione sighed anxiously. She was already running late today; this would only make it worse.

The resulting clean-up job meant that Hermione found herself somewhat dashing down the staircase and through the corridor to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. She was going to be the last student through the doors; she might even be properly tardy. Severus would be irate. He did not tolerate tardiness.

But what did that matter? After all, did he love her, or not? Just five days previously, he'd sat for hours with her in his room, each of them sipping on warm black tea as they talked about the coming darkness. Then, when the melancholy of that conversation became too much, they started talking about themselves.

Hermione had asked Severus about who he was, for she often felt as though she had little idea at all. He'd been hesitant to say much of anything.

"You saw where I grew up," he'd told her, flicking his eyes toward the fireplace and taking a slow sip from his teacup. "You can guess what sort of childhood I had. Tobias Snape was no father. He was a tyrant, both to my mother and to myself. Coming to Hogwarts felt properly as though I were being granted admission to Heaven, or at least as though I were being freed from Hell."

Hermione had not forced him to dwell too much on his past. She knew enough - he'd been a Death Eater, and then he hadn't. He'd been bullied, and then he had been a bully. Why rehash it all?

She'd told him a little about her life before Hogwarts, though there wasn't much to tell. Her parents were dentists (he'd known that). She'd taken many holidays with them (not very interesting). She had no siblings (that much was obvious, he'd said).

Somehow they'd started talking about the harvesting of lacewing flies. It had come up when he'd accused her of stealing Polyjuice Potion ingredients in her second year, something she'd admitted to after a while. The discussion eventually turned to how the flies were being farmed, but that this variety produced a lesser magical effect. The intellectual conversation had been so stimulating that a ghastly amount of time had passed, and soon enough the clock on the mantle struck eleven and Hermione realized she needed to make her way back up to Gryffindor Tower. She'd kissed Severus goodnight, rather passionately, and felt a physical ache with every step she took away from his door.

So even though she was running far more late today than usual, Hermione had no reason to suspect that he was going to scold her angrily for her tardiness. Thus, she was unpleasantly surprised to see him scowl so fiercely at her when she quietly opened the classroom door and tried to unobtrusively make her way to the empty desk at the rear of the room.

Severus was up in front of the group, droning on about the legend of Raczidian. He paused mid-sentence and flicked his long, flowing black robe over his shoulders, sniffing quietly as he glared at Hermione. She swallowed heavily and frowned at him.

"Miss Granger," Severus said in his soft, oily voice he reserved for ill-behaved students, "would you care to explain to all of us what was more important than punctuality to today's lessons?"

Hermione pursed her lips, trying not to look obviously petulant as the rest of the class whirled over their shoulders and ogled her.

"I'm very sorry, _sir_ ," she said. "I dropped my books in the corridor."

"You dropped your books." Severus cocked an eyebrow. Hermione just nodded. Severus smirked. "And it took you… nine minutes… to pick up your books?"

He was goading her, Hermione realized, so she simply ground her teeth and squared her jaw. "I'm very sorry for my tardiness, Professor."

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Severus drawled, and Hermione felt her mouth drop open in genuine outrage as he nonchalantly continued talking about bloody Raczidian. "Only the 'pure of heart' may cast a Patronus, so when Raczidian attempted the spell, he produced only maggots and was consumed alive by his own wicked intentions…"

The entire rest of the lesson, Hermione fumed. She did not raise her hand to answer a single question. She did not read along with the passages in the textbook. She did not scrawl a single line of notes. She just sat and was angry. How could he deduct _actual points_ from her _actual House_ for her being late? If he loved her, truly loved her, as he said he did, then how could he take teasing her to the point of punishing the rest of her classmates?

Then Hermione realized she was being awfully Gryffindor about all of this, and perhaps she needed to look at it through a bit more of a Slytherin lens, the way Severus saw things. He probably thought it was a way for him to cover his tracks and ensure that no one suspected the two of them of 'inappropriate relations.' If she had waltzed into the lessons ten minutes late and Severus hadn't batted an eye, it would have seemed awfully odd.

Hermione's anger dissipated a tiny bit toward the end of lessons, but she still found herself lingering as the others made their way from the classroom. She took much longer than she needed to to put her books into her messenger bag, and she flicked her eyes up surreptitiously to see that Severus had settled into his chair at his desk and had begun marking papers with a brown quill.

Hermione waited for Seamus and Dean to amble from the classroom before she glanced back at the door to the corridor. She picked up her wand and aimed it at the door, but before she could mumble a spell, she heard it click and felt the thrum of wards being cast over it. Puzzled, she turned back toward the desk at the front of the room at saw that Severus was pointing his own wand at the door.

"Come here," he said darkly to her, without any pretense, and she set her messenger bag down and walked quickly up to where he sat.

Severus put down his quill and turned his body in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and staring up at Hermione thoughtfully. She looked down at him, trying to take him all in and attempting to discern whether or not she was actually angry with him for taking Gryffindor points from her.

She wasn't, she decided. He was only trying to protect her - to protect them both. She decided not to confront him about it, choosing instead to scan her eyes silently over his body.

He was studying her, his onyx eyes glittering with curiosity and the slightest bit of visible want. His nose, prominent and a tiny bit crooked, cut down his chiseled pale face and led to his solemn-looking mouth. Hermione found her gaze lingering a bit on his lips - a Cupid's bow on top and a thin arc below - and she wanted very much to taste his familiar warm, spicy flavor.

Her hands reached out vaguely and found his, lacing their fingers together as his cold, dark eyes blinked slowly. She saw him swallow heavily, as if he were concerned about something, so she whispered,

"Why don't you just come out and say it, then?"

"Say what?" he intoned immediately, a little sigh slipping through his nostrils. His eyes blanked a bit; she knew he was a master of cloaking his emotions on command. Hermione rolled her own eyes in frustration and shifted her weight.

"I can tell very well that something is bothering you. I could tell it at breakfast this morning… was it your Mark? It seems odd that you would have been…"

She trailed off when she saw him square his jaw, and she knew she'd hit a nerve. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, squeezing his hands a bit, and waited. Severus frowned and said,

"Dolores Umbridge has plans for people like you. Sooner rather than later."

"People like me?" Hermione heard herself repeat indignantly. Then, wrinkling her nose in disgust, she spat, "Dolores Umbridge?"

Severus nodded solemnly. "There are terrible things in motion, Hermione. If I could tell you everything, I would, if only to keep you safe. You know that I am going to have to -"

"Yes, yes, I know," Hermione clipped impatiently. "You're going to have to commit some dastardly deed for which I shall despise you forever. And?"

She watched as he licked his lips carefully. "And after that… it will be obvious to you when _that_ is… you will need to flee, quickly and as far away as you can go. Your life depends upon it."

Hermione felt her throat grow tight with fear at the solemnity of his words, the flash of alarm that crossed his jet eyes. "Where shall I go?" she croaked quietly. "What about my family? What about Harry, and Ron, and everyone here?"

"I only care about you," Severus insisted, and Hermione suddenly felt angry with him.

"Well, I don't!" she said, and she pulled her hands out of his. Severus crumpled his eyebrows and his eyes flashed. Hermione continued crossly, "I have friends, and parents, many other people whom I can not simply abandon, Severus! What precisely do you expect me to do… run away to some foreign country and hide alone because I am Muggle-born? Meanwhile, my Muggle family, my 'blood traitor' friends and allies, and everyone else… _you_ most of all… are here, left to die? Is that what you expect me to do?"

"I expect you to survive," Severus pronounced one word at a time, sitting up straight in his chair and glaring directly at Hermione. "You needn't be such a stereotypical Gryffindor about this."

"And _you_ needn't be such a typical Slytherin!" Hermione exclaimed, nearly stomping her food like a small child as she felt frustration bubble in her chest. She scoffed, "I am not going anywhere! I shall simply wait and see what it is you've been ordered to do, Severus, and you shall have to observe my actions thereafter!"

Suddenly he rose from his chair, towering authoritatively above her and staring down at her with a cold, black fire in his eyes. His slender hands reached to clutch at her shoulders, and Hermione abruptly felt a bit afraid of him. Severus breathed quickly through his nose as he shook his head angrily down at her, and then he murmured,

"Do you not realize what a little fool you are being? I am trying to protect you! I am trying to keep you safe. The only way I can keep you safe is to send you away."

"I'm not _yours_ to keep safe!" Hermione cried indignantly, and she took a step back from him. Severus followed her, his own step larger than hers so that now he was closer than ever. Hermione felt her heart pound inside her chest as he loomed above her, his breath hot and quick on her cheekbones.

"I need you to be mine," he hissed. "Don't you understand? I need you to stay alive, Hermione, and I need for all of this wickedness to dissolve into non-being… so that you can be mine."

Suddenly his mouth was crushing hers, almost painfully, and he was drawing her shoulders tightly against his chest. Hermione squealed against his mouth, feeling dizzy with confused want.

His hands left her shoulders and gripped her robes tightly as they worked their way down her torso to her waist, pulling her flush against his body until she could feel the burgeoning hardness inside his trousers. He ground her abdomen against him, and she felt a sudden flush of moisture shock straight between her thighs. He captured her moan with his tongue and nibbled at her bottom lip as she gasped desperately. Her knees buckled beneath her, but his strong hands held her firmly.

At last he pulled away from her, and Hermione tried to catch her breath for a moment while she leaned against him. But then she felt herself being guided by her waist to his desk, and she shut her eyes, dizzy and aroused. Her hands reached aimlessly for the buttons on his frock coat, but he pulled her fingers away and murmured,

"I've got third-years coming in twenty minutes."

"Mmm," Hermione nodded sadly, moving her hands instead to tangle themselves in his hair. It was silky and smooth, she thought, not as greasy as everyone always said. She gripped him tightly as he hauled her by her waist on his desk, and as she cracked open her eyes she saw him reach to unbutton the placket of his trousers.

Was this what people meant when they referenced a 'quickie,' Hermione wondered? Rushed, frenzied sex with no regard for foreplay and little thought for romance? This was very different from the time in his office, when he'd murmured continuously in her ear about how much he loved her, and more different still than when he'd lavished soft touches upon her in his bed. This was downright hedonistic, Hermione thought, glancing down to see that he'd shoved aside several stacks of parchments so that she could sit upon the wooden desk.

He'd freed himself from his trousers while she thought, and when she glanced back to him, Severus was stroking his hardened length with his right hand, his palm coursing smoothly over his engorged tip while his left hand coursed slowly up Hermione's thigh. She shuddered at the touch, gripping the edge of the desk tightly so she didn't fall off.

It tickled and burned and tingled, the way his hand trailed slowly up toward her wet entrance. When at last he reached the damp crotch of her panties, he yanked them roughly aside and fiddled at her sex with his calloused fingertips. Hermione bucked her pelvis up against him and moaned a bit, wrenching her eyes shut and then holding her breath.

She could hear him panting through his nose, could hear the low little grunts he let out every now and then, as he used his thumb to circle hard around Hermione's clit while two lithe fingers curled inside of her. She forced her eyes open and watch him slowly stroking himself, delighting in the sight of his own slender hand gliding expertly around his cock in a swirling motion.

"Please, Severus…" she heard herself whisper.

"Please what?" he demanded, his fingers going still against her body as he took a half step closer to her. He lowered his face so that his lips hovered a half inch from hers, and Hermione whimpered desperately.

" _Ungh_ …" She reached in frustration for his wrist, trying to get him to keep working his fingers on her. She'd been moments away from a climax, and now he was teasing her. "Please… Severus…"

"Please _what_?" he purred again, pulsing his rough fingers inside of her a few times, tortuously slowly, until a deep keen worked its way out of Hermione's throat.

"I need you inside of me _now_!" Hermione begged. "Please take me _now_ , Severus!"

"Oh, I suppose so…" he drawled lazily, flashing her a crooked little smirk. Hermione felt a gurgle of anger at him, the same kind she'd felt earlier when he'd taken House points from her for being tardy. But now that anger manifested itself as an intense arousal, and she reached between them to clutch his cock in her hand, eliciting a low groan from him. She guided him between her legs and bucked her hips against him, forcing him an inch inside of her body.

His body stilled for a moment and he reached shakily for his wand off the desk, pointing it at her lower abdomen and casting a nonverbal spell before tossing the wand aside and staring up at her. His black eyes glittered with lust and something far more real than that as he moved his hands back to her waist. He leaned his forehead against hers and stared into Hermione's eyes as he drove hard into her body, pulling her hips roughly against his own.

She yelped, feeling suddenly impaled and stuffed as a searing heat ripped through her core. Then the burning gave way to delicious pleasure as he steadily rocked her against him, his lips meeting hers in an urgent kiss. When he pulled away, Hermione whispered something she hadn't planned on saying, but meant very much nonetheless.

"I love you, Severus."

He didn't answer her. Instead, he stared at her for a long moment, and Hermione saw a glint flash through his dark eyes. He gently brushed his lips around her face - her cheekbones, her nose, her forehead - and then urged her to lay her face against him. She did, nuzzling in between his neck and shoulder. She breathed in, smelling herbs and spices and leather and wood. Her fingers grasped at the heavy black material of his robes, and her eyes shut happily.

Then, soon enough, he yanked her waist hard against his own body and groaned, and Hermione felt the hot volleys of his seed filling her core. She whimpered contentedly on his shoulder and pulled away to look at him, watching with wonder as he recovered.

A few moments and a rushed _tergeo_ later, Hermione had put her knickers to rights and Severus had tucked himself back into his trousers. They both, admittedly, looked quite rumpled, but there was only so much to be done about that.

"Go," Severus ordered. "You'll be late for Arithmancy, if you're not already."

"Oh… erm… I shall need a note for Professor Vector again." Hermione felt her cheeks color. "I'm likely going to be tardy."

He smirked at her and shook his head mockingly, sitting down at his desk and feigning great inconvenience as he extracted a scrap of parchment and a quill. Hermione watched him write some made-up excuse for her. Hermione sarcastically wondered if it said something like, ' _Dear Professor Vector, Please excuse Miss Granger's tardiness. It took me a few minutes longer to shag her than I had planned._ '

Hermione studied Severus' unconventionally handsome face and form. He may not have been everyone's cup of tea, she thought, but he was _her_ cup of tea. And so few had any idea what he was enduring, what he was sacrificing… what he knew.

How much longer did she have with him? How much longer until she never, ever saw his face again? How many more kisses did she have, how many more times of looking him square in the eyes? She'd meant it, she realized, when she'd impulsively told him she loved him. There was a painful ache in her chest now that she realized the gravity of that - of being in love in wartime.

And he loved her, too. She knew that. But what of it? What sort of future was there for a schoolgirl and a spy, a Mudblood and a turncloak? What sort of happily-ever-after could possibly exist for them? None that Hermione could see. Every kiss she gave him could be - and was actually very likely to be - the last they ever shared.

Knowing this, Hermione leaned down as she took the note he'd written for her to take to Arithmancy. She kissed him square on the mouth, lingering upon his lips for a sweet moment. Then she pulled away, brushing her fingertips along his jaw. She rose and started to walk back to her desk to fetch her messenger bag.

"Hermione," he called calmly after her, and she turned round to face him once more. He stared at her for a moment and then flashed her a sad little smile before simply nodding. She blew him a cheeky kiss and approached the door to the corridor, feeling the thrum of the wards against her body.

"You'd best unward the doors," she laughed at him, raising her eyebrows, "before the third-years wonder why they've been locked out of lessons."

He did, with a little flick of his wand, and Hermione smiled as she stepped out into the corridor. She climbed the four flights of stairs to reach the Arithmancy classroom, and sure enough was the last one there.

She rushed to the front of the classroom and handed the surprised-looking Professor Vector her excuse note. It said something about reviewing a graded essay… didn't sound very plausible to Hermione, but Professor Vector simply glanced at it and nodded curtly, turning back to the complicated equation she was showing the class.

Hermione settled into her seat, pulling out her notes and quill and jotting down the numbers before her. As she did, she could not help but replay the passionate, almost angry words Severus had spoken to her before crushing her mouth with a fiery kiss.

' _I need you to be mine,' he had said. "Don't you understand? I need you to stay alive, Hermione, and I need for all of this wickedness to dissolve into non-being… so that you can be mine.'_

* * *

As soon as the happy surprise of seeing Katie Bell had worn off, Hermione excused herself from the Gryffindor Common Room and made her way briskly down the many levels of staircases that led to the Potions corridor in the dungeons. Severus had a free period that overlapped with her own, she knew, and he was likely to be lurking in his office.

This morning in Charms, Harry had told Ron and Hermione _everything._ It had been a revelation, truly, in many ways. There was a path now, a real and determined path, to destroy Voldemort. Unhappily, however, that path was complicated and dangerous and involved the darkest of magic. The Horcruxes into which Voldemort had split his soul would need to be found and destroyed, and Hermione had a feeling that considerable bloodshed would happen before that was all said and done.

Hermione felt compelled to tell Severus what she knew. After all, he'd informed her about quite a bit… not everything, of course. He'd made it quite plain that there was much he could not tell her. Why, exactly, there was so much that had to remain confidential to her, Hermione did not know, but she trusted Severus. She could still see his words in black ink on the letter from Spinner's End -

 _No matter what any of it looks like, no matter how any of it seems, I am on your side._

He was a dark soul, and he was a complicated man, but Hermione knew that, ultimately, Severus was an ally to everyone she counted as a friend. So when Harry told Ron and her everything he and Dumbledore had discovered, she knew she'd be making a trip to the dungeons.

She walked rather nervously down the Potions corridor, startling a bit when the old grandfather clock noisily clanged out two. She paused outside Severus' office and shifted a bit upon her feet, raising her hand to knock. She sighed and swallowed, wondering what it was that had caused her to fall in love with him in the first place.

He was not a happy creature, and he hardly went about his life aiming to make others happy. But he did, in a way, make Hermione happy, even if he did not intend to do so. Their labyrinthine conversations about manticores and burn hazel left her feeling downright excited. She enjoyed bantering with him about whether or not Gertie Keddle bore any historical significance. She loved hearing him drone on endlessly about Herbicide Potion and Sleeping Draught and even about the troublesome second-year Hufflepuff idiots he dealt with.

His kisses seared across her lips and flesh and his spicy aroma left her wanting nothing more than to be near him. His smirk, the same one he'd been flashing for the past six years, was suddenly erotic. And he cared about her welfare, genuinely and completely, and took a wholehearted interest in her pursuit of self-defense.

So as Hermione stood outside Severus' office, her hand hovering over the wood of his door, she realized it had been quite a few things that had led her to get a twist in her stomach when she thought of him. It didn't really matter, she decided, _why_ she loved Severus Snape. But she did; she loved him.

She knocked, a series of four firm raps, and then she heard his low voice say smoothly, "Enter."

Hermione pulled the door open and stepped into his office, feeling a wave of relieved glee wash over her when she saw him hunched over a thick book at his desk. He looked up and his face visibly relaxed from its pinched, severe expression.

"Good afternoon," he said mildly, as Hermione shut the door behind her. He flicked his wand and it clicked shut, and then there was a little vibration as he warded the room. "Do you not have lessons?"

"Free period," Hermione explained, and Severus shut his book and sat back a bit, nodding. Hermione helped herself to sit in the chair opposite him, and picked absently at her lip as she stared at Severus' onyx eyes. Then she said, "Harry had some very interesting information for Ron and me in Charms lessons this morning… concerning Voldemort. He got that memory from Professor Slughorn, the one that Professor Dumbledore wanted him to get. Anyway, there's a very clear sense now of how Voldemort can be defeated, only it shall be difficult and complicated. As it turns out, Voldemort has split his -"

Severus surprised Hermione by abruptly leaning forward and holding his palm up to her to silence her. "Stop," he said briskly, and Hermione shut her mouth, furrowing her brows in surprise. Severus continued, "If Albus Dumbledore intended for me to know _any_ of this, he would tell me, you understand? You need to stop talking about it to me, right now."

He seemed very serious, and Hermione was confused for the briefest of moments, until she realized what Severus' worry was. "Legilimency…" she whispered, nodding.

"Even the most skilled Occlumens can only put up walls so high, Hermione," Severus clipped, folding his arms over his chest and frowning deeply. "The Dark Lord is _exceptionally_ skilled at searching minds. If there is anything he should not know, then it should not be inside my head. Say no more of this here."

Hermione nodded quickly, suddenly feeling rather foolish. She should have thought of this, of course, but . Severus cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows. Then, in an obvious attempt to change the subject, he asked,

"You got your Apparition license, then?"

"Yes. Well, I passed the test yesterday," Hermione said, her cheeks still colored from embarrassment. She sighed a bit and tried to smile shrewdly at him. "I simply can't wait to go home for the summer holidays and show my parents how I can pop from the upstairs to the downstairs and back again." She quirked a crooked smirk and admitted, "Truly, though… since we can't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds, and I'm Muggle-born… I'm not sure what use I'll have for it any time soon."

She was saying all of this, really, because in her mind she wanted to pretend that everything was going to be fine. Her gut told her that soon enough they'd all be Apparating about during wartime, that there would be no sense of normalcy at all, and that she'd be very grateful for every last bit of Magical training she had. But Hermione just kept flashing her crooked little smirk at Severus, who frowned back at her.

"Yes, well… to that end," he mumbled, and he pulled out his pocket-watch and set it gently upon the desk, "I want you to take this."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, confused. "Your pocket-watch?" She thought back to another time in this office, when he'd Transfigured the watch into a goblet for her and she'd touched his hand awkwardly. She slid the watch across the desk and wrapped her hand around it, pouting a bit at it and then up at Severus. "Erm… thank you?"

Severus rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently. "It isn't a _gift_ , you mawkish little witch," he huffed, and Hermione scowled indignantly. But Severus carried on, "I've enchanted it."

"Oh." Hermione examined the pocket-watch, flicking open the tarnished brass and studying the Roman numerals and slowly moving gears visible inside. "What… erm… what have you done to it?"

Severus cleared his throat softly. "It's a device of my own creation. Called an _Oraverit._ It is somewhat like a Portkey, but it works with Apparition and is linked with another similarly-enchanted object in a two-way connection. The link allows you to Apparate directly to the location of the other _Oraverit_ , which will be in my possession at all times. Thus, I will always be able to find you, and you me… though, of course, it will likely be very dangerous for you where I am. In any case, all you must do is hold the pocket-watch tightly in your palm and incant ' _oraverit_ ' before Apparating. You will then be transported directly to my location, or, more precisely, to the location of my own device."

Hermione felt her mouth drop open in wonder. She stared down at the brass pocket-watch, her eyes going wide, and then back up at Severus. She felt grateful tears well in her eyes, and tried to whisper her thanks, but her words got caught in her throat. He licked his lip carefully and said,

"You should never come looking for me, Hermione… I made these so that I can come get you if I need to. They're a fail-safe, you understand?"

Hermione nodded silently, flicking shut the cover of the pocket-watch and tucking it safely into her robe. Severus reached his slender fingers beneath the tight collar of his frock coat and pulled something out from under his white dress shirt. Hermione frowned curiously as she watched him gently pull out a dull silver chain, at the end of which was a forged iron pendant. She recognized the Futhark rune _laguz_ stamped into the little iron tablet. Water… the element of House Slytherin. Fitting, she thought, as she wondered why he was wearing the rather plain piece of ancient-looking jewelry.

"This is my own _Oraverit_ ," Severus explained. "I shall wear it always, and thus I shall be able to find you. _Do not come searching for me_ ," he repeated, "once things have become obviously dangerous. I shall not be sitting about in happy, safe places. These are tools I have created so that I might have a chance at keeping you alive."

Hermione swallowed thickly, trying to keep the hot tears in her eyes from boiling over onto her cheeks. She blinked rapidly and nodded. "Do… do they work everywhere?" she asked timidly.

Severus nodded. "They are impervious to anti-Apparition charms," he affirmed. "I have tested them myself. They work well, even in places with heavy jinxes in place like Hogwarts."

He tucked his dull iron necklace back into his shirt and fixed his collar, and Hermione felt her fingers drift anxiously to the small pocket inside her robes, where the hard lump of his pocket-watch felt like both a token of love and a weapon.

"You should go," Severus said absently. "If I keep writing your teachers notes explaining away tardiness… people will talk."

Hermione nodded with regret and rose, leaning over his desk and planting a single, soft kiss upon his thin lips before plodding wordlessly from his office.

* * *

 _Sometimes Severus despised Harry Potter - truly despised him. Tonight was one of those times._

He'd been walking with a purpose down the sixth-floor corridor when an odd feeling of doom had crashed over him. Then, out of nowhere, a shrill shriek had begun to resound from the stone walls.

"Murder! Murder in the bathroom! Murder!"

Severus had followed the horrible sound, which he recognized at once to be the voice of Moaning Myrtle, and had burst through the door of the bathroom to see Draco Malfoy convulsing in a bloody puddle of water, his torso criss-crossed with deep slashes. Immediately, Severus could see that Draco had been hit with the _Sectumsempra_ curse that Severus had created as a student. Kneeling beside him, heaving with terrified sobs, was the son of James Potter.

Severus had shoved Harry Potter aside and pulled his wand from his frock coat, painting the air with its tip as he knitted together Draco's wounds and thrice incanted the counter-curse to his own made-up spell.

" _Vulnera sanentur_ ," he hummed, his words like a song. He wished very much that Potter had never found his Potions textbook. " _Vulnera sanentur… vulnera sanentur._ "

He'd guided the limping Draco Malfoy up to Poppy Pomfrey and interrogated Harry Potter before assigning indefinite detentions to the Boy Who Went About Casting Unknown And Potentially Lethal Spells.

Then Severus had made his way to the Headmaster's Office and tried to explain the incident. Albus Dumbledore had calmly listened while Severus ranted, and then had offered the younger man a piece of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. This had infuriated Severus even more, and he'd been tempted to storm out of Dumbledore's office. The meeting had ended when Albus had said to Severus,

"I think that tonight's events are actually quite happy. You got Draco to Poppy in time to get some dittany on his wounds and prevent scarring. Lucky you were in the corridor and heard Myrtle shrieking that Draco had been injured. The boy has been asked to kill me, or he himself shall be killed. I've asked _you_ to kill me, Severus. And, ultimately, we all seek to kill Voldemort. With all that talk of murder, I find it difficult to perseverate over a bit of duelling in the bathroom."

At dinner, everyone seemed quite cross with Harry Potter, which made Severus feel slightly better. Even Minerva McGonagall was angry with her star Gryffindor. Severus had paid a visit to Draco in the hospital wing after dinner; the boy had been properly cross but had been unwilling to admit any wrongdoing. Severus was certain it hadn't been a one-way attack by Potter, but did nothing to punish Draco's tight-lipped attitude. He'd made his way to the Slytherin dungeons, where Pansy Parkinson was making a point of lecturing her House-mates about Draco's dire condition, having visited him herself. Severus had reassured the younger Slytherins that Draco would indeed live, and had then graded some papers at his desk for a few hours before retiring for the night.

He drew a searingly hot bath and sank into it with a hiss, relishing the way the hot water made his skin feel clean from the terrible day. He could have sworn at some point that heard an odd little sound from outside the bathroom, but he ignored it, and stayed in the delightful bath for so long he grew drowsy and the water grew tepid. Finally, he relented to the hour and drained the water, patting himself dry and tugging back on his black boxer-briefs before making his way quietly back out into his bedchamber.

There was someone there - a moving, breathing lump in his bed.

He moved smoothly and silently until he stood beside her, hovering above her and watching her sleep curled up beneath his heavy brocade blanket. Hermione's caramel curls were sprawled messily upon the pillow, hiding most of her face, but Severus could see that her full lips was parted peacefully as she dreamed. She was wearing a loose gray t-shirt on her thin frame and had pulled herself into a little ball, her hands fisted on the duvet, and her skin glowed warmly in the firelight. Beside her, upon the mattress, was Severus' brass pocket-watch.

Severus stalked around his bed like a predator trying not to frighten its prey, and then crawled noiselessly up to kneel on the mattress. Hermione stirred but did not wake, whimpering a bit as she shifted onto her back. Severus coursed his fingers through his black hair, sighing as he stared down at her. He fingered the iron pendant at his throat, realizing that he was very glad she had been able to make use of the _Oraverit_. First of all, it meant that the connection between the objects he'd enchanted was sound and strong, and would help protect her once the world became truly dangerous. And, besides… he quite liked the sight of her here.

 _Damned brilliant, beautiful little witch,_ he thought sourly, rather wishing he weren't in love with her.

Severus leaned down and touched his lips softly against Hermione's, as if he were waking the perpetually-comatose princess from the Muggle fairy tale. Just like in the story, her eyes fluttered open and she smiled meekly. She instinctively reached beside her and clutched his pocket-watch in her hand protectively. Severus chuckled. _Good girl_ , he thought. _Keep that close_.

"You know," he muttered to her in a low growl, trying to sound authoritative even as he pulled her knuckles up to kiss them, " _This_ is not the intended use your _Oraverit_ … did it occur to you before you Apparated into my private chambers that you must somehow surreptitiously make your way back to Gryffindor Tower before anyone notices you're gone?"

Hermione sheepishly shook her head against his pillow. "Not really," she admitted.

"No, I had thought not," Severus cocked an eyebrow at her and smirked. He petted her hair with one hand and stifled a swell of want when he felt her chestnut eyes coursing over his mostly-naked body.

"It was rather intolerable around my House-mates this evening," Hermione explained, "after what happened between Harry and Draco."

"Was it?" Severus asked distractedly. He pulled her fingers up to his lips again and dragged her knuckles over his dry lips, knowing what she was going to ask him next. He was right.

"You made that spell?" Hermione whispered with disbelief in her voice. " _Sectumsempra?_ You made it up? Why?"

"I had many enemies, and I felt the need to protect myself," Severus said simply. It was the truth. "I still have many enemies, and I still feel the need to protect myself. And you. That's why you've got that watch, and that's why I've got this." He gestured aimlessly to his neck, to the iron rune that hung there. "That's why I've taught you how to hex people into oblivion without using a wand, Hermione. Don't you dare get self-righteous with me just because I managed a way to curse the people who made my everyday existence rather intolerable."

She was silent then, and stared at the ceiling for a long while. She didn't look at him as she pulled her hand from his lips and let it drift down over his Adam's Apple, past his sternum and around his abdomen. Severus shivered at the light, dancing touch of her fingers, feeling his cock go hard in his thin underwear. He grunted softly, and she looked at him with a crooked smile. Severus scowled at her with feigned austerity.

"What do you expect, little witch?" he asked bitterly. "That now you've got that watch, you can just _pop_ right down into my bed and spend every night with me?"

"No…" Hermione shook her head and let her hand drift lower until it rested upon the bulge in Severus' lap, and he gasped a bit. "But may I stay tonight?"

Severus shut his eyes and hissed through his teeth. A moment later he was hovering above her, and as he lowered his face to kiss her neck, he murmured in a deep growl, "Yes… you can stay tonight."


	5. Chapter 5

' _In Muggle astronomy, magnitude of celestial bodies is most often measured in general wavelength. However, centaur astronomy more frequently utilizes the measurement system called Entity Passband. This describes the range of frequencies that can pass through a filter without being attenuated (weakened) for any given visible object, such as a star or planet. In the case of centaur astronomy, the so-called 'filter' being used is of the magical sort. The Entity Passbands of celestial bodies are determined through various traditional Divination methods, and these have proven far more effective than Muggle measurements._

 _The significance of Entity Passband in centaur astronomy is as follows…_ "

Hermione took a large bite of her apple and chewed it thoughtfully, turning the weathered page she was reading in the library's ancient copy of The Stars From the Trees: Astronomical Techniques of the Centaurs. Funnily enough, Hermione had no assignment for any class from the text. She was simply re-reading it out of interest.

Beside her, Ron and Ginny were discussing a small package that had arrived that morning from Fred and George, containing a number of cleverly-disguised products from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that had been explicitly banned from Hogwarts. Hermione chewed upon her apple and listed absently, turning her attention back to her book on centaur astronomy.

' _Let us pause to examine the relationship between the Entity Passband and the Apparent Magnitude of the star Alpha Centauri (also called Toliman)._

 _This is, by the naked eye, the third-brightest star in the night sky, and yet it bears little influence upon the Earth's happenings due to its Entity Passband. Reasons for this_ are a _) the star is visible in a Southern Hemisphere constellation and thus imparts its Visible Influence to fewer Earth-dwellers than Northern Hemisphere celestial bodies. b) Though it appears to the naked eye as a single object, the 'star' is actually a binary star system, comprised of two separate stars._

 _Because each star's energy and passbands have a slight cancellation effect on the other, the combined influence on Earth's inhabitants is surprisingly slight, despite Alpha Centauri's total visible brightness._ '

"I swear it, the man has absolutely no semblance of a soul!" Harry slammed down a stack of textbooks upon the long table and nearly knocked over Hermione's goblet of pumpkin juice.

Hermione jolted in alarm, her eyes flying up to stare at Harry as he shoved his body onto the bench between Hermione and Ginny.

"What's wrong now, Harry?" Hermione heard herself ask rather impatiently, and she shut her astronomy book as she turned to face him. Harry scowled and reached angrily for a croissant, shoving it into his mouth and chewing crossly.

"Bloody Snape!" he exclaimed, his mouth full of bread. Hermione felt a twinge of dread as she prepared for her fellow Gryffindors to launch a collective assault on the man she loved. She was not at all surprised when Ginny shook her head in disgust and sneered,

"He's got you in detention tomorrow, hasn't he? During the Quidditch match?"

"And no one will let me forget about it, as if I'm the one who scheduled the detention!" Harry pouted childishly. Hermione felt her cheeks color with anger, and she huffed,

"Well, Harry, it isn't his fault that you utilized a very dangerous spell against Draco, one that could have killed him. You're lucky Severus was there with a counter-curse, aren't you?"

There was a long beat of silence then, as Harry, Ron, and Ginny all stared at her with complete disbelief written on their faces. Hermione looked at each of them, her eyes lingering upon each expression for the briefest moment. Harry looked enraged with her, if she was honest, his green eyes shimmering with betrayal. Ron looked… well, he looked confused. And Ginny looked very suspicious. Hermione felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as she began stammering, trying quickly to cover for having obviously offended her friends.

"I… I mean, it's terrible for the Quidditch team that you won't be there, Harry. But perhaps instead of blaming someone else for your detentions, you should simply be glad no one… no one was more seriously hurt. That's all I mean to say."

"Hermione…?"

"Hm?" Hermione felt her cheeks color, because they were all staring at her still, Ginny most incredulously of all, and when the red-headed girl said Hermione's name, there was an unspoken question that Hermione couldn't figure.

"Well, what?" Hermione finally growled at the three of them, patting the table restlessly.

"You… you called him 'Severus.'" Ron said the last word as though it were Voldemort's name, or an Unforgivable curse, curling his lip up and visibly recoiling. He flicked his eyes over to Harry, who was glaring at Hermione with heat in his eyes. Ginny was still staring, too, looking completely distrustful.

Suddenly Hermione felt her heart begin to race, felt her breath hitch in her throat, and when she tried to swallow, she found she could not. She blinked a few times and said, "I - I, well, of course I meant to say 'Professor Snape.' It was a slip of the tongue, obviously."

"Yeah, obviously," Ron frowned with dubious hostility. He crossed his arms over his school robe and furrowed his orange brows. "What, Hermione… you fancySnape, is that it?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ronald!" Hermione felt like a rat who had been backed into a corner, and in her mind she was screaming curses at herself for letting his first name slip out of her lips.

How could you be so foolish, Hermione? she shouted at herself in her head. Everything is ruined. You stupid, stupid witch!

"Well, it is a bit odd, Hermione," Ginny admitted. "I wouldn't go 'round calling Professor Flitwick 'Filius,' you know, nor Professor McGonagall 'Minerva.' Just because you know a Professor's name doesn't mean you use it, innit?"

"I've been doing extra lessons, remember?" Hermione said, but her voice sounded shrill even to her own ears. Her cheeks felt hot and red. "I've just been working more with him, so… I said his first name on accident in conversation! Let it go, please, right?"

"He's looking at you," Ron hissed unhappily, turning his ginger face to scowl into his porridge.

"What?" Hermione whipped her head to the Staff Table to see Severus glaring down at the Gryffindors. He was raising a brass goblet to his lips and sipping slowly from it, pretending to cast his eyes around the room, but he kept looking rather anxiously at Hermione. When she made eye contact, he surreptitiously cocked an eyebrow at her as if to silently inquire as to what was transpiring. It must have been visibly obvious that there was conflict among the Gryffindors. Hermione ought to have realized that Severus would have been able to see her arguing with her friends; after fifteen years of teaching he was obviously something of an expert in rooting out student strife.

Hermione frowned deeply up at him and then turned back to her incredulous 'friends.' She felt angry and confused, and she slammed her thick astronomy book shut and tried to stuff it into her messenger bag. It didn't fit, so after a long moment she gave up and huffed as she threw her bag over her shoulder and clutched the book to her chest. She tossed her apple core onto the table and rose from the bench, glaring down at her classmates.

"Think whatever you please," she said to them, "and you," she hissed to Harry with a derisive, sarcastic sneer, "have a fantastic time with Severus tomorrow in detentions, won't you?"

Then she strode angrily from the Great Hall, knowing that there were eyes watching her at both the Gryffindor and Staff tables.

* * *

On Saturday morning, Severus took a particular measure of glee in setting up shop in his office to punish Harry Potter. Nearly all the students would be making their way to the Quidditch pitch for the match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, he knew, but not the offspring of James Potter. No, this irresponsible little twit would be spending the match day sorting through old detention records and re-writing them without the use of magic.

Some minute part of Severus might have told him he was being sadistic, except he knew he was meting out the most adequate justice in the world. Potter, after all, had committed a series of egregious offenses that had led to this point. He had obtained Severus' copy of Advanced Potions-Making by accident and, upon realizing it contained many cheats and work-arounds, had continued using the altered text, gleefully accepting glory that was not rightfully his. How very Gryffindorof him, Severus had thought. How very… James the Younger.

Then, to make it worse, Harry Potter had found Severus' inscription for Sectumsempra in the margins of the text. 'For enemies,' Severus knew he'd written, which of course should have made it quite clear to Potter that the incantation was Dark, dangerous magic. But the boy had cast the curse at Draco Malfoy without any idea whatsoever of what the spell might do. It might have decapitated the other boy, for all the foolish young Potter knew. It might have caused him to morph into a deadly manticore-troll hybrid and go on a rampage through the school. It might have done nothing at all.

But Potter had cast the spell just the same, even though he undoubtedly had knowledge of plenty of other workable hexes and curses in that moment. Unquenchable curiosity? Foolhardy behavior? Attacking other students? Ah, yes… this was definitely the son of James Potter.

So, truly, Severus had very little guilt about making the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain absent for today's match, and he'd been even less sorry if the Ravenclaw side emerged victorious today. What had troubled him a bit had been a conversation he'd seen at the Gryffindor table just yesterday in the Great Hall, wherein Hermione had seemed quite upset with Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter, and even Ginevra Weasley. The three had seemed to gang up on Hermione about something, and Hermione had stormed angrily from the Hall - but only after looking up at the Staff Table with a deep frown.

Now Severus felt a minor twinge of unease about seeing Harry Potter, one that threatened his glee at giving the boy detention. He set up a work station for the boy consisting of cob-webbed boxes, many pieces of cardstock, an inkwell, and several spare quills.

Then he waited.

Potter was punctual, at least, arriving two minutes before having been asked to do so, but he had a contemptuous scowl upon his face when he walked into Severus' office.

"Potter," Severus said lightly, as though he were only half-expecting the boy. He gestured to the desk he'd set up and explained the task he had prepared for the day's detention. It was all rather clever, Severus thought with a measure of self-congratulation. He'd fetched some of the old records from Filch so that Potter could see first-hand some of the wicked deeds wrought by his own father, as well as Sirius Black and the other Marauders.

Potter worked in irritated silence for a long while, copying down words like, 'James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black. Apprehended attempting to enter the Hufflepuff common room. Had in their possession two of Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks, which exploded outside common room and destroyed three barrels. Four first-year Hufflepuffs mildly injured. Four weeks' detention.'

Severus planned lessons for the next week at his own desk, flicking his eyes up occasionally to check that Potter's quill was dutifully scratching upon the cardstock. After a while, he saw the boy's hand pause, and Potter glanced up at him with a look of thoughtful uncertainty.

"Sir?" he asked very hesitantly, and Severus furrowed his eyebrows, setting down his own quill as if the single word had annoyed him more than could be imagined.

"Yes?"

"Erm… what… what sort of 'extra lessons' has Hermione been doing with you, sir?" Potter raised his black eyebrows at Severus, who suddenly felt a twinge of anxiety ripple through his core. He kept his face still as stone and asked in a bored drone,

"What business is that of yours, precisely?"

Potter stared at Severus for a long moment and narrowed his eyes. Severus knew the boy was not afraid of him. Indeed, he was quite convinced Potter thought he was allied entirely with the Dark Lord. Severus knew well enough that Potter was on to Draco Malfoy, at least insofar as that Potter knew that Draco was plotting something major. So as Severus saw the way those eyes - Lily's eyes - narrowed at him with nothing but hatred, he felt unnerved.

"Do you know, sir, that she called you by your first name at breakfast yesterday?" Potter said in a challenging tone. Severus knew that he could not allow this conversation to happen, not in any capacity, so he tried to look amused and cocked an eyebrow before picking his quill back up. Potter continued, "That's what we were all arguing about, you know."

"I assure you, Mr. Potter, that your adolescent squabbles are of precisely no interest to me."

"All right, then, sir."

The two of them returned to their work without another word, and a bit after one o'clock, Severus tersely dismissed Potter. The boy stormed from the office after being informed that his next detention would be the following weekend.

Severus was left sitting at his desk, his head buzzing with alarm as he considered that anyone, even Hermione's fellow students, might be suspicious of their relationship. It was now hardly a matter of his tenure or her personal reputation - political happenings assured that those concerns were petty and insignificant. It was a matter of her safety. No one could know that he loved her, because that fact would quickly become ammunition.

He could always leave her, pretend he didn't love her and encourage her to go start snogging Ronald Weasley. But even the thought of that made Severus feel nauseated, and he shoved away that notion as quickly as it had come to him. No… they would simply have to convince the world that there was nothing to see.

Before Severus could think any more on the matter, he felt the unwanted, if familiar, burning sensation begin on his left forearm, and knew that he was wanted at Malfoy Manor. With an astringent sigh, he snapped his quill down upon his desk and made his way out of his office, striding purposefully toward the Apparition Point.

* * *

"Look at him, Cissy! Oh, this is fun!" Bellatrix Lestrange giggled like a little girl as she jabbed her wand through the air at the man who lay helplessly upon his back on the rug. She grinned, wild-eyed, and shrieked, "Contereret!"

The Crushing Curse hit the prisoner again, and he managed a little gasp before losing all ability to breathe. The effects of the curse were such that it was as if an invisible boulder were suddenly sitting upon his chest, and he flailed weakly, struggling for air. Bellatrix cackled maniacally, her face looking rapturous as she tortured the man.

Severus felt as though he were going to vomit, so he leaned heavily against the carved wooden fireplace and averted his eyes, looking to where Narcissa Malfoy stood a few feet away. She, too, seemed deeply disturbed by her sister's actions, her pale eyebrows furrowed in distaste and her fingertips drawn up to her lips as she fought to conceal her horror.

The man on the floor was Octavius Pepper, a Muggle-born Ministry employee in his thirties who had been apprehended in his home some weeks prior by Death Eaters and had been held in the basement of Malfoy Manor since then. Various curses and hexes had been utilized on the man, Severus had been made to understand. His arm had been branded, his blood blackened, dirt pulled from his skin, and he'd been subject to daily Cruciatus curses by various perpetrators. He wasn't the only one; apparently several other prisoners had been 'test subjects' for the curses that were to be implemented on Muggle-borns upon successful overthrow of the Ministry of Magic. But now Voldemort had grown bored of Octavius Pepper, and saw no more use for the man. So he'd given him to Bellatrix today as a gift to indulge her insatiable bloodlust.

Voldemort now sat in a stately chair in the far corner of the room, watching the spectacle with happy, hungry eyes as Bellatrix crushed the man with invisible weights just until the brink of death, then released him from her spell. Severus, Narcissa Malfoy, Rowle, Gibbon, and a few others stood silently around the perimeter, forced to behold the macabre display.

"Please…" Severus heard Octavius Pepper croak from where he lay upon his back. The man's thin frame twitched a bit as he gasped and panted for air. He coughed a little and murmured, "Please, Madam Lestrange… just kill me."

"Aww… sweetling," Bellatrix taunted, crouching down to cup the man's chin in her bony hand. She flashed him an evil grin, and Severus swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Bellatrix smirked as she said softly, "Isn't it just the most delightful thing when they finally ask to die?" She pushed herself back up to her feet and kicked Octavius Pepper roughly. "I'm not done with you yet."

"Finish him off, Bella…" Voldemort said gently from the corner, sounding a bit bored. "We have other matters to address, my dear."

Bellatrix looked a bit disappointed, but she nodded submissively. "Yes, My Lord." She pointed her arced wand down at the Muggle-born wizard, who stared back up at her with sadness and desperation in his wide, blue eyes. Severus abruptly realized that he was witnessing the very last seconds of the man's life, and he felt his heart thump in his chest as he watched the air between Bellatrix's wand and Octavius Pepper's face. "Avada Kedavra!"

There was the telltale flash of green, and then the poor man slumped down into a lifeless heap.

"Wormtail… get rid of him."

Voldemort waved his hand dismissively at Octavius Pepper's corpse. Severus pinched his lips and watched wordlessly as Peter Pettigrew scurried out of the shadows and used his wand to levitate the man's lifeless form and glide him out of the room. Pettigrew, looking every bit a rat as he always had, scampered away, and Voldemort gestured for the rest of those in the room to approach him. Severus and Narcissa stepped away from the fireplace. The Carrows, Rowle, and Gibbon did as well, and Bellatrix stalked seductively toward the Dark Lord's chair. Severus noted with some unease the presence of Fenrir Greyback, who was not a Death Eater, but an extremely vicious werewolf.

"Now… my beloved friends," Voldemort said softly, and Severus flicked his eyes to listen attentively, "Draco Malfoy, it seems, has finally worked out a means to allow a good number of us entry to Hogwarts. In one month's time, we shall be… visiting you, Severus. On that day, Draco will end the life of Albus Dumbledore once and for all, with several of you there to witness the event and ensure that no one stands in Draco's way."

Beside Severus, Narcissa Malfoy stiffened with a mixture of pride and concern. Severus knew that she was wordlessly asking him to follow through on his Unbreakable Vow.

I have no choice, Narcissa, he wanted to hiss at her, to you or to Dumbledore.

Suddenly Severus felt terrified, his insides screaming at the thought of Death Eaters roaming the corridors of Hogwarts. There were first-year students, eleven-year-olds, that lived at that school. Most of them were woefully inept with magic; Severus knew that well enough by how pitiful they all were in Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. If the Death Eaters began marching about casting curses at students, there was only so much the staff could do. And if Severus was to maintain his double agency, there was nothing he could do to protect any of them.

Hermione. What was he to do about her? In a disgusting sort of irony, Bellatrix Lestrange jeered from beside him,

"You shall have to hand over that Mudblood slut of yours to me once we're inside, Severus. That Granger girl was a right thorn in my side at the Department of Mysteries. You saw what fun I had with this one tonight… oh, I've got all sorts of plans for Granger…"

Bellatrix let out a low, menacing chuckle between her sneering teeth and turned back to Voldemort, who began to have a conversation with Amycus Carrow about several Muggle-borns who had been recently captured.

But all Severus could do was stand mutely and flick his eyes between Bellatrix Lestrange and his dragon-hide boots, fighting with all his might to keep his face emotionless.

'Oh, I've got all sorts of plans for Granger.' Bellatrix had done plenty of odious and vile deeds in front of Severus over the past twenty or so years, including some in the past few hours. He had no reason to doubt that the 'plans' she had in mind for Hermione were terrifying. Probably, Bellatrix had invented some ghastly new curse just especially for Hermione. After all, Hermione had annoyed Bellatrix last year directly, and was now Severus' 'pet.' And Bellatrix neither liked nor trusted Severus. Therefore, she had all manner of reason to despise and long for pain on behalf of Hermione Granger. And, being Bellatrix Lestrange, she would see to that pain very effectively.

Severus felt the room spinning, felt his stomach turning, felt his ears ringing. But he stayed grounded where he stood and kept his face completely stony, pretending to listen to the inane conversation between Amycus Carrow and Lord Voldemort.

Hours later, when he was lying in his bed, he absently fingered the iron pendant around his neck and wished that Hermione would use his pocket-watch and Apparate down to see him. He'd told her explicitly that that was not the purpose of the Oraverit, he knew.

But tonight, he wanted nothing more than to see her, to hold her in his arms and breathe in the scent of daisies in her hair. He wanted to listen to her slow breath as she slept and know she was safe beside him, to lace her little fingers through his and talk with her about the use of nutmeg in potions-making until they both fell asleep.

He lay upon his back and stared up and the ceiling, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the iron pendant as if by doing so he could will Hermione down from Gryffindor Tower. But she never came, and the hours ticked by in dreadful, lonely, sleepless silence until Severus rose from his bed and dressed for breakfast.

* * *

Sunday morning arrived with a warm, gentle sunrise that woke Hermione as the golden light seeped through the windows of the Gryffindor girls' dormitories. She slowly sat up in her bed and looked about, realizing that none of her fellow sixth-years were awake, and pushed herself reluctantly from her mattress. She neatly pulled her duvet up around her pillow and reached for her wand off her bedside table, stalking with a yawn out of the common bedroom and into the girls' large bathroom.

She showered quickly, washing and conditioning her unruly curls, and scrubbing at her skin with a bar of soap. She was still drowsy, so she yanked the knob to flash herself with a jet of cold water and yelped quietly as the frigid stream roused her rather effectively.

She cast a drying spell at her hair, trying vaguely to tame it with a comb before giving up and getting dressed into a cream-colored tank top and a pair of old denims. She tucked her Oraverit into the back pocket of her jeans, never wanting it to be too far away, and shoved her wand into her other pocket as she yanked on a black school robe.

There was no one in the common room yet, either, and as Hermione pulled out the pocket-watch to check the time, she realized it was not even six o'clock. The House Elves wouldn't have breakfast on the tables in the Great Hall for another hour and a half. Her fellow students would be taking their sweet times rising, given that it was a weekend and they had no lessons to attend. Hermione sighed lightly, wondering if she ought to go back to bed. But something compelled her to make her way out of the portrait hole and go wandering through the corridors instead.

Hogwarts was beautifully tranquil in the warm, quiet morning, now that the cool spring was melting into the summertime. Hermione took a staircase down and strode slowly through the open cloisters on the sixth floor, staring down into the glen that spread out around the Hogwarts grounds.

The glen had turned a vibrant emerald, upon which the month of May had painted swaths of amethyst in the form of heather sprung new. The glowing sunrise cast shadows upon the valley below where the high, craggy cliffs blocked out the light of the rising sun, but in other places the warm light bathed the gently swaying grass in a sort of febrile blush.

Hermione pulled over to an open, arched window and rested her cheek upon her forearm, breathing in the still, fragrant air of the morning. This was peace, she thought with a twinge of regret. This was the sort of peace that they were fighting for, the peace that Voldemort had some sort of preternatural hatred for. What was so wrong with all of this? What was so wrong with the gentle flitting about of dippers through the morning air, the way the long-stemmed thistles undulated in the slightest of breezes?

Why did he feel so compelled to destroy all of this? What was so wrong with her, that she should not be permitted to stand here and be content with her magic, content with the morning? Why should she be destroyed?

Feeling rather glum now, Hermione frowned and turned away from the sunny glen below, wrapping her arms around herself in a sad sort of embrace and pushed a stray curl from her eyes. She leaned her back against the windowsill and faced into the corridor, looking sadly down at her orange half-kneazle familiar, Crookshanks, who had silently appeared beside her.

Her large, squish-faced familiar was not the most attractive animal kept by a Hogwarts student, to be certain, but Hermione was sure he was among the most clever. Crookshanks saw to his own food supply and hygienic needs, and served more as a companion for Hermione than anything else. Now as she stared down at him, she wondered what would become of him if everything went to pieces the way she feared it would.

Hermione heard Severus' footsteps long before she saw him. She knew his footsteps very well after six years of knowing him, most of that time spent fearing him as a mean-spirited teacher.

Click, click, click. His dragon hide boots clapped impatiently and quickly as he strode with a purpose through the empty corridor. Hermione took an anxious step away from the windowsill and glanced around the corner to see him stalking briskly toward her. He stopped dead in his tracks the moment his eyes met hers, and his face changed from an stony, blank sort of look into an expression of unmitigated craving.

He glanced wordlessly and quickly around, though the corridor was mercilessly empty, and stepped hurriedly to close the distance between himself and Hermione. Then he shocked her by grasping her wrist in his and yanking her toward him. Without a word, he pulled her back in the direction he'd come.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows in alarm as she was dragged along. She watched as Severus pulled his wand out from his frock coat and pointed it at a door, which opened with a click. He pulled on her wrist and she was guided into a small, dusty, unused classroom. Hermione glanced around curiously; it looked as though this room had not been used in ages, and there were stacks of old textbooks alongside a few broken chairs in the windowless space. Severus silently closed the door and warded it with a little vibration, and then he turned toward Hermione. He pushed her against the stone wall shoved his wand back into his pocket before cupping her face rather roughly in his calloused hands.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," he murmured, and then he crushed his mouth against hers.

Hermione squealed against his kiss, the warm, wet invasion of his tongue a pleasant but startling surprise. She had hardly expected to see him come walking down the corridor, let alone to have him drag her into an empty classroom. Now he had her pressed against a wall. Her head spun with excitement as she realized that in a matter of minutes there could be people just on the other side of the door, and she kissed him fiercely back.

"Where were you going?" she managed to ask him after breaking away from the kiss. She reached up to tangle her fingers in his soft black hair. Severus moved his mouth to her neck and she gasped when he spoke next, his words breathy and hot on her skin.

"To the library," he said simply. "Needed that damned book on centaur astronomy again for lessons. The Stars From the Trees: Astronomical Techniques of the Centaurs."

Hermione laughed aloud.

"What's so funny?" Severus demanded, lathing his tongue against Hermione's neck.

"Well, you would have been out of luck, I'm afraid," Hermione said through gritted teeth, squeezing her fingers desperately in Severus' hair and squirming beneath him. "I've got the only copy."

Severus pulled away from her and frowned. "Why?"

Hermione blushed. "Because it's an interesting book," she said simply. She reached for the little buttons on his frock coat, popping one after another through the buttonholes and opening the heavy black wool of the jacket. Severus shook the frock coat off of his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground, and then reached to plant his palms flat against the wall on either side of Hermione's head. He glared down at her with a playful, sarcastic expression upon his face.

"Well, I am going to need that book, Miss Granger," he pronounced smoothly.

"I'm disinclined to give it to you," Hermione answered breezily, smirking up at him. "I have found the chapters on parallax to be so fascinating they keep me up at night. No, I don't think you can have it… it would take an awful lot of convincing…"

"Impish little vixen," Severus growled, pushing his hips hard against Hermione so that she felt the bulge of his erection grind on her abdomen. She sucked in breath and felt her heart pounding in her chest. Her fingers worked at the buttons on his high-necked white shirt, flying nimbly down his torso until she could push the shirt open and reveal his lean, sinewy chest.

"What do you need the book for, anyway?" Hermione asked teasingly. She touched her fingernails to Severus' sternum and dragged them lightly down his chest, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from him. He leaned heavily against his hands on the wall and grunted softly when Hermione's little hands made their way to his black wool trousers and unbuttoned the placket gracefully.

Hermione felt a surge of desire strike her straight through as she realized that, for the first time, she had some measure of control over him. Even if they were just being playful, even if he had her against a wall, she was the one teasing him. It was an unheard-of dynamic in their relationship thus far, and she was going to milk it for all its worth.

"After all," she murmured simply, "I find myself reading it rather frequently, so your need had better be terribly urgent if I'm to hand it over."

Severus huffed in frustration and grabbed desperately at Hermione's hands, pulling them more firmly against his crotch and sending a jolt of want through her veins. "I need to copy out the text on Azimuth coordinates," he said in a low clip, sounding irritated, "for my third-years, so that I might explain how that astronomical principal has been utilized to make some Dark prophecies in the past."

"Oh, I see," Hermione nodded, smiling wickedly. "Yes, that is very, very important. Hmm… well, I shall think on it."

Then she let her brown eyes glint up at him as she cupped his erection in her palm and sighed. Severus scowled in response and pushed Hermione firmly against the wall, driving his hardness against her abdomen and humping her slowly as he snarled roughly in her ear,

"That's enough teasing me, little witch. You'll bring the book to lessons tomorrow, you understand?"

"Oh… yes… all right, then," Hermione nodded frantically, suddenly overcome with arousal at his demonstration of authority. She was not usually one to succomb to dominion, nor one to find force at all attractive. But with Severus, domination was so deeply a part of his personality that it was part of his sexual allure.

He pulled his face back from her ear, and she saw that his black eyes were glistening with a fierce craving. It had awakened something in him, she could see, to be the slightest bit rough with her. They'd only made love a few times - first when she'd been a complete novice and he'd had to instruct her, then hastily in his office, then atop his desk, then slowly and tenderly when she'd spent the night in his chambers. But that had been it. Every time had involved words of fondness, gentle caresses. There had never been brutality. There had never been lust, not the way Hermione saw it in Severus' eyes right now.

But perhaps, Hermione thought, there was a need inside of him that needed to be assuaged, given how quickly the world was catapulting itself toward chaos. Of course he loved her. She knew that. And she knew she loved him. But in this moment, she didn't need him to kiss her, or to stroke her cheek and tell her she had pretty eyes. She wanted to succumb to him, for reasons that she couldn't explain even to herself.

"You can have the book," she whispered softly, feeling him grind his pelvis more roughly against her in response. His cock was throbbing through her jumper, and she felt a twist of want in her stomach as her breath caught in her throat. "I'll bring it tomorrow."

"Good girl," Severus nodded. He pulled back, stepping away from her, and Hermione whimpered a little, quite against her own will, when she felt his warm member stop kneading her tummy. She watched as Severus' slender fingers unsnapped the placket of Hermione's old denims and yanked down the zipper, urging her to pull them down over her thin hips. "Out of these damned things," he said rather hoarsely. "I need to see you."

Hermione pushed the trousers down over her legs and felt Severus' hands follow the material down, his calloused fingertips tracing their way around her bare thighs and grasping at her bottom. She gasped a little as she kicked away her denims and panties, relishing the way Severus squeezed at her skin possessively. Then his fingers curled under the hem of her cream-colored jumper and pulled it upward, pushing off her black robe along with the jumper as he strove to free her entirely of her clothing. When she stood there in nothing more than a white cotton bra, Severus pulled her away from the cold stone wall and looked her up and down.

His onyx eyes studied every inch of Hermione's body before he reached smoothly around her back and pinched at the clasp of her bra, which fell forward and revealed her small, round breasts to him. Hermione shifted awkwardly upon her feet, feeling very self-conscious as he breathed deeply through his nose and let his cold, black eyes take in every detail of her form. What did he see, she wondered? Did he find her ugly? Beautiful? Was he simply studying her, the way he did with everything else in the world?

After a long moment, he began to brush his fingertips around her skin, starting at her throat and slowly - torturously slowly - working his way down the lengths of her arms and back up again, then down over her torso. Hermione shivered fiercely, feeling a fiery heat shoot between her legs and a delicious wetness there. She shut her eyes, tipping her head back a little when he gently cupped one of her breasts in his hand, but she wrenched her eyes back open when she heard him murmur,

"Look at me, Hermione."

His words returned her to the first time he'd taken her body, when she'd laid upon his bed and he'd been gentle and kind. But right now in his eyes she saw a fierce hunger, and this time his words were not comforting, but commanding and possessive. And, yet, Hermione had never felt such fierce arousal in her life. She shifted again on her feet, this time because of the almost uncomfortable throbbing between her legs. She finally let her fingers drift there as Severus caressed her, for she was unable to stand the way her womanhood ached for attention.

She was shocked when Severus batted her hand away from her entrance before she could begin touching herself.

"I will do it," he said firmly, shaking his head. And he did, pressing her back up against the wall for support as he used his knee to part her legs a bit. Hermione felt the cold stones against her back and buttocks and hissed in surprise when Severus' fingertips pressed against her folds. She nearly came at once, for she was so wet and so inflamed with want, and she moaned in agony.

Her hands reached up and grasped anxiously at his chest, her palms flailing beneath his open white shirt and pressing against his ribcage. She held onto him tightly, feeling the way his rickety breath went in and out, the smoothness of his skin. And she felt his fingers pulsing on her, curling inside of her, and she almost lost herself.

But then, suddenly, he yanked his hand away, and the ringing in her ears stopped abruptly, the pounding in her chest frantically calling out for him to keep going.

"Ungh…" Hermione moaned, and she reached with one hand for his wrist to try to get him to keep touching her. But Severus instead grabbed her own wrist in his and squeezed very tightly, almost painfully. Hermione glared up at him in shock and watched him shake his head firmly.

"Breathe deeply now," he instructed her, and Hermione furrowed her eyebrows but did as he said, taking a few shaking breaths. He stared down at her and licked his bottom lip. "Calm down," he whispered.

The orgasm she'd almost had was passed, gone, and Hermione was more frustrated than ever. She was still sopping wet between her legs and desperate to have him. She stared down between them and saw that his unbuttoned trousers were tented mightily by his hardened cock. She huffed at the sight, wanting him to simply put himself inside of her and pound and pound until he spilled his seed and she clenched around him. Instead, they were standing still, not touching each other, in the quiet room, for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, she watched as Severus quietly and slowly reached into his trousers and pulled out his cock, which looked so ready that Hermione groaned a bit when she saw it. Severus clutched himself in his hand and coursed his palm over his length a few times, spreading the dewy drop at his tip down his shaft and shivering a little. Hermione bucked her hips once or twice and gripped his ribcage more tightly.

"Get down on your hands and knees," Severus said suddenly, and Hermione crumpled her eyebrows in alarm. She stared down at the stone. floor, thinking it was going to be very uncomfortable to kneel upon it. Severus must have thought the same thing, because in an instant a few of the old textbooks had been Transfigured into some large cushions upon the ground. Hermione glanced at Severus, who had a stony, determined look on his face and stood in his open shirt and trousers with his hand around his cock. She did as he'd bade her and got clumsily down onto the cushions, not quite certain how to arrange herself. He helped her with that; she felt his hands on her waist rather roughly dragging her into the correct position on her hands and knees.

Then she felt him snake one of his hands around her body and let it rest on her lower abdomen, and she hear him mutter, "Breviter sterilatatem," and she was grateful that, as always, he'd somehow had the clarity of mind to think of practicalities. It was one of the reasons she loved him, she realized.

Hermione was not entirely sure what she expected now that she was presenting herself to Severus like a dog in heat, but she knew that generally this sex position led to men jackhammering themselves furiously into women. She was a bit apprehensive about that, if she was honest. So she was more than a little surprised when the first thing she felt was the smooth gliding of Severus' hands over her exposed back and buttocks and the sound of a low groan from him.

Hermione shuddered, feeling so hot and wet between her thighs that she thought she must be positively dripping there. Her mind was screaming with want for him, and her heart was practically pounding its way out of her chest.

"Please, Severus," she muttered, "Please take me now."

"Not yet," he said sternly behind her. "I want you to come for me first."

"That won't take long," Hermione chuckled darkly, for her quim was throbbing fiercly. "Just touch me and that will happen."

"No… it will happen when I want it to happen," Severus countered. Hermione felt a spark crackle down her spine, as though she'd stuck her finger in a socket. There was something truly mesmerizing in the way he was speaking to her now, the way he was touching her. Hermione felt as though she were on fire, as though she were in a trance. She was so close to climaxing; she was at the top of the peak and staying there, desperate to finish and unable to do so. She shifted on her knees in agony.

Severus was dragging the tip of his cock up her thighs, she could feel, and she moaned rather angrily through her teeth. "Severus, stop it!" She could take no more of this, she decided. "Either put it in me or don't."

But he ignored her, drifting the silky tip around her sopping folds so that she jolted and gasped, and then poking it into her an inch before pulling back out. Hermione groaned as though she were being tortured. "I already said you could have the damned book!" she cried desperately.

"This has nothing to do with The Stars From the Trees: Astronomical Techniques of the Centaurs." Severus scoffed from behind Hermione and reached around her to touch her clit with his fingertips. She sobbed at his touch, feeling that if she didn't climax soon the world would crumble to bits.

"Well, what is it about, then?" Hermione demanded. "Please, please let me finish, Severus!"

"I told you I needed you to be mine," he reminded her. Hermione thought back to the time they'd made love in his classroom, when he'd proclaimed to her, 'I need you to be mine.'

"Yes, I recall," Hermione seethed impatiently through her teeth. She bucked her hips backward and yelped when she felt that Severus had placed his cock against her entrance. She moved her waist frantically, trying to push onto him.

"You're mine now. You understand?" Severus growled rather fiercely and pushed himself into her. Hermione gasped and cried out as she came almost instantly in response to the sensation of being filled by him. Her walls convulsed and clenched around his cock, pulling him in and squeezing him. Her ears rang loudly and were flush with heat, and her heartbeat was rapid and strong in her chest. Her breath was ragged and desperate as she keened out his name.

She should have been angry with him, she realized. He'd just claimed her, explicitly claimed her, and she was a human being! Worse, he'd told her that she was his, and then an instant later he'd 'marked his territory' by shoving himself into her body. But how could she be angry with him when she'd wanted it so badly, and when she wanted more than anything to be 'his'?

And how could she be angry now that he was pumping himself against her, holding fast to her waist, and murmuring her name as though it were a prayer? How could she be angry when she heard him whisper,

"You're mine, Hermione, because if you're mine then no one else can ever hurt you."

Then suddenly he clutched fiercely at her waist and pulled her against his own hips so roughly two or three times that she cried out in pain, but she didn't truly mind. He growled and gnashed his teeth audibly as he came, pumping his warm seed into her body and holding her tightly against him for a long moment as he caught his breath.

Then he let her go, gently laying her down upon the cushions. She lay there in breathless disbelief for a long while, watching Severus button himself silently into his white shirt and black frock coat before putting on her denims and jumper again.

Severus kissed her forehead softly and said, "You go on to breakfast. I'll stay here for a few minutes and follow behind you. You be sure to bring me that book tomorrow, you little imp, or it'll be thirty points from Gryffindor."

"Thirty points?" Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "For what, exactly? Seems a bit steep for…"

"For making me fall hopelessly in love with you, Miss Granger. It's been terribly inconvenient in more ways than one. Go on. Off to breakfast."

* * *

At breakfast, Hermione chewed nervously on a croissant and sat a safe distance from Harry, Ron, and Ginny. They were all discussing the Quidditch victory from the previous day, as were most of the other ebullient Gryffindors. Hermione had often been socially on her own as a child, and so it was hardly out of the ordinary for her to simply sit and eat breakfast and read a book. But this morning, she was coming straight from a romantic tryst with Severus, and was still somewhat actively engaged in an argument with her friends. Indeed, more than once she saw them cast glares in her direction. And she couldn't help but notice that Severus deliberately avoided her gaze throughout the entirety of breakfast, choosing instead to focus very intently on a conversation with Professor Sprout.

Finally, Ginny surprised Hermione by sliding down the bench to sit beside Hermione. The red-haired girl pinched her lips tightly together.

"Morning, Hermione," she said at last.

"Hello," Hermione smiled uncomfortably. "Congratulations on the Quidditch win."

"Oh… thanks," Ginny smiled crookedly. "Look, 'Mione… the boys and I feel rather dreadful about what happened on Friday. We know you didn't mean to call Snape by his first name… we certainly didn't mean to go about accusing you of anything. I know it's completely ridiculous to suggest there's anything inappropriate between a man like him and a witch like you."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" Hermione asked, before she could stop herself. She scowled a bit at Ginny, swallowing her croissant. Ginny parted her lips in surprise and furrowed her orange eyebrows, shaking her head.

"Well, it's absurd, Hermione," she repeated. "That's why I'm apologizing. The greasy git's over twice your age… and he's a teacher, and a right terrible one at that, and likely on the wrong side of things, if you know what I mean… got the personality of a lizard, and the looks of one, too… I just mean, we're all very sorry that we even suggested -"

Hermione felt her cheeks color a deep crimson, felt her ears ring with anger. She said nothing to Ginny, but she could not help but grimace and glower at the girl, and Hermione knew that her face was doing all the talking.

"Hermione," Ginny said suddenly, "there's nothing going on between you and Professor Snape." Ginny shook her head and spoke with feigned certainty, as though she were trying desperately to convince both herself and Hermione. Then, when Hermione just chewed her lip, unable to formulate a lie out loud, Ginny went white as a ghost and asked meekly, "There isn't, is there?"

Hermione licked her lip carefully and flicked her eyes up to the Staff Table. Severus was talking with Professor Sprout, but Hermione wanted to scream out to him to come and help her explain everything. She sighed and turned back to Ginny, shrugging helplessly. Ginny's pale eyes went wide with shock and she looked as though she might vomit.

"Please, please, Ginny… do not breathe a word of this to anyone, least of all to Ron and Harry," Hermione pleaded desperately, wishing suddenly that she'd been able to simply say, 'No. I despise Professor Snape just like the rest of you. Greasy git indeed.'

"Why don't we go back to the Gryffindor girls' dormitory?" Ginny asked quietly, looking around the crowded Great Hall, "and have a bit of a talk, eh?"

* * *

On Monday morning, Hermione strode into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom in between Ron and Harry, ignoring the boys' inane conversation about Quidditch as she reflected on her conversation with Ginny.

The younger girl had, at first, been completely horrified to hear that Hermione was in love with Severus Snape. Hermione had minimized some details and had certainly mentioned nothing confidential Severus had told her about his work. Ginny had, at first, seemed so scandalized that Hermione had briefly considered Obliviating her until she remembered Gilderoy Lockhart.

Then Ginny had come around after realizing that Hermione was, as Ginny had put it, an "old soul."

"I suppose seventeen-year-old boys aren't likely to be suitable boyfriends for you," Ginny had admitted, and Hermione had cocked her head in assent. Ginny had sighed and insisted that she still didn't trust Professor Snape, nor did she approve of the age difference, or the student-teacher relationship. But she'd promised Hermione to keep her secret, especially from Ron and Harry. Hermione hoped dearly that she could trust Ginny.

This morning, as she strode into Defense Against the Dark Arts, she clutched her copy of The Stars From the Trees: Astronomical Techniques of the Centaurs to her chest as she contemplated her predicament. She needed to tread carefully; open suspicion of hers and Severus' relationship would be outright dangerous for the both of them. On the other hand, it felt a bit liberating to have another human recognize and accept that she was in love with him.

She stalked up to Severus' desk while Ron and Harry situated themselves for the lesson. Severus was discussing an essay with Seamus Finnegan.

"Well, Mr. Finnegan," Severus was saying sternly, "perhaps if you'd spelled more words correctly, I would have known what the blazes the point of your essay was."

"I'm not a terribly good speller, Professor," Seamus admitted with a scowl, "but I thought I did a fairly good job explaining how augureys rely on heavy rain!"

"Oh, is that what you were trying to explain?" Severus asked, sounding bored as he held up Seamus' essay. He narrowed his eyes at the boy's messy handwriting and droned, "Because what I see, Mr. Finnegan is, 'The augurey likes to hunt its prey in rains and floods,' except you have misspelled the last word as F-L-U-D-S. Atrocious, Mr. Finnegan. Please desist arguing your marks on this essay and perhaps next time utilize a Muggle dictionary or, if you absolutely must, a Spell-Checking Quill. I hear they may be procured from our illustrious, enterprising friends the Weasley Twins. Now, go. Sit down."

He thrust the essay toward Seamus, who frowned deeply and stalked away angrily. Then Severus turned his attention to the waiting Hermione, who stifled a look of amusement at Seamus' misfortune. The instant Hermione saw Severus' black eyes, she was taken back to the previous day. The way he'd kept her from finishing - 'Calm down,' he'd whispered. The way he'd brushed his rough fingertips over her naked form and hungrily eyed her. The way he'd thrust into her from behind and growled, 'You're mine now.'

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Severus raised his eyebrows at her, and Hermione swallowed as she jolted back to the present. She ignored the sudden rush of moisture between her thighs as well as the din of the students around her and stepped up to Severus' desk. She held out the thick copy of The Stars From the Trees.

"This is that book on Centaur astronomy you'd wanted at the library, sir," she said plainly, cocking an eyebrow at him as she pushed the book across the desk.

"Oh… yes… I'd rather forgotten." Severus took the book and glanced up. For a long moment, he simply stared at her. He didn't thank her, didn't say anything at all. Hermione smiled gently, knowing none of the rest of the students could see her face, and then nodded a bit when he said in his low, buttery voice, "You may take your seat, Miss Granger."

* * *

On a Wednesday morning near the end of May, Hermione stepped into the Potions classroom with a bit of a drag in her step. She had only seen Severus privately once in the past two weeks. He had been too busy, he'd said, to do wandless lessons with her, and when she'd tried to take advantage of his office hours, there had been a pair of second-year Ravenclaws there asking him about merpeople.

So she'd only had one brief opportunity to see him, when she'd used her Oraverit late one night and Apparated into his private chambers. He'd kissed her and touched her and whispered that he loved her, but then he'd made her leave. It was too dangerous, he had said, for her to stay in his rooms.

In Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, he had treated her as he would any other student. It was agonizing to watch him pace back and forth at the front of the room, to listen to him drone coldly on, knowing what he was capable of… knowing that he was in love with her.

This morning, Hermione had felt so depressed about it all that for one brief, horrifying instant, she'd considered feigning illness to stay in bed. But that ridiculous notion had quickly passed, and she'd dressed and readied herself for Professor Slughorn's lessons. As she scuffed into the Potions dungeon, she flicked her eyes over to where Harry stood beside Ron, speaking adamantly to him in a low voice. She approached the boys and asked quietly,

"All right, then?"

"Morning, 'Mione…" Ron turned to her with pink cheeks, and Harry suddenly walked away to his own work station. Hermione watched his abrupt departure with a twinge of hurt surprise and asked Ron,

"Did I do something to offend Harry?"

"No," Ron insisted, shaking his head, but he did not sound very convincing. "It's just… well, he's cross with you that you wouldn't give him back the Half-Blood Prince's copy of the Potions textbook."

"Oh." Hermione put her hands on her hips and scowled, watching as Harry pouted and slammed down supplies, readying his work station. She chewed her lip, thinking back to the conversation she'd had with Severus about the textbook. Severus had insisted upon keeping it, especially after the incident between Harry and Draco in the bathroom. But she couldn't tell Ron and Harry the truth about the 'Prince's' identity - she had no good explanation for how she'd known it was Severus. She frowned ever more deeply and sighed, turning back to Ron. "Well, he can be angry at me all he likes. I don't even have the book anymore."

Ron cocked an eyebrow. "Where is it?" he asked.

"I… I gave it to Professor Snape!" Hermione stammered. She was a terrible liar, so she knew her cheekbones were coloring with every word, but Ron looked relatively swayed, so she carried on, "After Harry used the Sectumsempra spell against Draco, I turned it in, to Professor Snape. There's Dark Magic in that book, Ronald. Aside from my admittedly sanctimonious concerns about cheating, there are matters of safety."

They said no more of it and simply began setting up their respective work stations, directing their eyes forward when Professor Slughorn loudly cleared his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the old wizard began kindly, "Today will be a bit different from normal work days. Since we are nearing the end of term, I wish for each of you to choose one potion from your text - Advanced Potions-Making by Libatius Borage - and make it today. The only conditions are that you must consume your own creation, so choose wisely! Begin whenever you are ready!"

There was a sudden din as students turned to their neighbors and started chattering, alarmed and surprised by Slughorn's assignment. They could choose anypotion to make, so long as they were willing to consume their own work… well, that condition eliminated a good number of options. Bulgeye Potion, for example, would seem undesirable to drink on purpose. Pompion Potion, which temporarily turned the drinker's head into a pumpkin, also seemed inadvisable.

Indeed, Hermione heard her fellow classmates quickly settling on iterations of Elixir to Induce Euphoria, Memory Potion, and Ageing Potion. Hermione was rather unsurprised to hear Seamus announce with glee that he would be making Dogbreath Potion for himself to consume, and she heard someone ask Neville (the worst Potions pupil Hermione had ever seen) what he had planned.

"Erm… going to whip up a Jawbind Potion, I suppose. It looks fairly simple, and the effects aren't too scary. They're temporary; says you'll be able to move your jaw within a few hours of drinking the stuff…" Neville was mumbling to Dean Thomas as he flipped through his text. Hermione's eyebrows flew up in alarm.

Oh, heavens, she thought fearfully, looking about the room at the very inept students about to ingest their own poorly-concocted potions, This is going to be chaos.

"Oy, Harry," Ron called over Hermione's head, "What are you going to make?"

Harry scowled in Hermione's direction and then said to Ron, "Well, I wouldn't be as afraid to drink any of these if I was working with the Prince's instructions, but, seeing as I'm on my own today… I'm going to play it quite safe. Ageing potions don't seem too difficult, and if you only drink a tiny bit, you'll only age a little. Thought it might be a laugh to see how I'd look in ten years, you know?"

"Yeah! That's a great idea!" Ron grinned widely. "I want to know what I'm going to look like, too! I'll do the same." He happily opened his textbook and began organizing his supplies, humming absently before asking Hermione, "What about you, 'Mione? What are you going to make?"

"Erm…" Hermione swallowed heavily. She had every confidence that she could brew a passable potion, one that wouldn't backfire upon her, but the issue was that she'd be seeing Severus later today for Defense Against the Dark Arts. What if something did go wrong, and she wound up walking into his classroom with her face covered in boils?

Then Hermione suddenly realized that she didn't care how he saw her. He would likely find it rather amusing if something like that happened. So she simply began flipping through her text and paused on the page that read, 'Babbling Beverage.'

Thinking to herself that speaking nonsense would be far less embarrassing than wandering about with a shrunken head or with pink bubbles shooting from her ears, Hermione read the description.

'A Babbling Beverage is a moderately difficult potion to concoct. Its effects are rather harmless and amusing; the drinker's words are converted into meaningless nonsense for approximately five hours after a dose.'

"Well, this one doesn't look so bad," Hermione said to Ron, pointing her finger at the text. Ron shrugged and grinned crookedly.

"Half the time we can't understand what you're trying to say anyway," he said, and Hermione scowled playfully at him. She went up to the supplies area and fetched what she needed to make the potion, getting straight to work.

'Begin by cracking one quail egg and one capercaillie egg into the cauldron; whip until frothy. Add a spoonful of Bouncing Spider Juice and stir thrice clockwise.'

Hermione did as instructed, feeling rather guilty about wasting a capercaillie egg on a Babbling Beverage. She continued following instructions, squeezing in Boom Berry juice and adding a single drop of salamander blood. She stirred once clockwise, then twice counterclockwise, then waited exactly twenty-four seconds. Then she drizzled in the Syrup of Hellebore and stirred sixteen times counter-clockwise before immediately tossing in the crushed marigold petals and watching the entire mixture turn a violent shade of pink.

"Hmm…" Hermione checked her instructions. Sure enough, that was what it was supposed to look like. She raised her hand and looked for Professor Slughorn, trying to get his attention and call him over.

She'd been so focused on her own work, as usual, that she'd ignored everyone around her. When Hermione looked around the room, she realized several other students had already finished. This was evident because some of them had clearly already taken their potions - a few of which appeared to have not worked out as planned.

Vincent Crabbe looked as though he had attempted an ageing potion, but it seemed to have worked in reverse. Bloody fool probably doesn't know right from left and stirred backwards, Hermione thought. Crabbe had turned himself into a small child, and he stood beside a furiously cackling Goyle and a terribly amused Draco Malfoy, practically drowning in his robes. Hermione wanted to think that miniature Crabbe - who looked to be perhaps five years of age - was cute, but even in his small, pudgy state, he just looked mean. The little boy pouted and crossed his arms over his chest while Professor Slughorn fetched him an antidote.

A few other students were also in mild distress. Neville's Jawbind Potion seemed to have actually worked its stiffening effect on his arms instead of his jaw. His hands were planted flat in the air like some sort of perpetually frozen mime, and he turned rigidly to face Hermione with a look of horror on his face.

"Oh, Neville!" Hermione exclaimed, her face twisting a bit as she realized he couldn't put his hands down.

"Would… would you mind throwing my bag over my shoulder, Hermione?" Neville asked.

"Don't you think you ought to have Professor Slughorn get you an antidote, Neville?" Hermione asked hesitantly, reaching out and poking Neville's stiff arm cautiously. Neville sighed,

"I already tried the Common Antidote. Didn't work. If it hasn't worn off in three hours, I'll go up to see Madam Pomfrey."

"All right…" Hermione frowned and lifted the strap of Neville's messenger bag carefully onto his shoulder. Neville nodded his thanks minutely and walked awkwardly from the Potions classroom, having been dismissed by Professor Slughorn.

Crabbe had been somewhat returned to normal; he now looked about thirteen and was still being mercilessly mocked by his fellow Slytherin males for his 'hilarious' ineptitude.

"Low marks for today, I'm afraid, Mr. Crabbe," Professor Slughorn sighed, shaking his head. The old wizard looked rather discouraged at how pitifully everyone was performing.

Hermione knew Professor Slughorn had become practically despondent since Harry had stopped using the Half-Blood Prince's copy of Advanced Potions-Making. The quality of his work in lessons had dramatically slipped, and though Slughorn had affectionately credited this to 'lovesickness,' Hermione could see that the man was genuinely disappointed.

Several other students' potions seemed to have worked decently well. Parvati's Beautification Potion left her looking moderately improved, not that she had ever been ugly in the least. Lavender Brown had brewed up a surprisingly successful Elixir to Induce Euphoria, and she'd waltzed arm-in-arm from the classroom with Parvati, waxing poetic about what beautiful weather they had today and how desperately she wanted to sing an aria in the corridors. The two Gryffindor girls had been awarded five points each for their success. Even Seamus Finnegan had done 'well,' relatively speaking. There was fire coming out of his mouth when he spoke, and that had been the goal of his potion. He, too, was given points. But Dean Thomas' attempted Amortentia was a complete dud; he drank it and said he thought he smelled nice, that he thought himself to be very intelligent and handsome, but that was it.

Well, what do you expect? Hermione had scoffed in her mind. A potion to fall in love with oneself?

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy had brewed up a rather effective Volubilis Potion. His voice was normally snide, middling-range in pitch and timbre. But as he thanked Professor Slughorn for the Slytherin House points and his high marks, Draco spoke with a slick, low growl that sounded almost attractive to Hermione. She curled up her lip in disgust at the thought of that, of Draco Malfoy being anything but a disgusting cur, and thought that he must have done a terribly good job brewing the Volubilis Potion.

Finally, Professor Slughorn made his way to the row of tables where Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood with their finished works. Harry shifted nervously on his feet, and Ron stared down into his cauldron as if he were going to be sick. Hermione sighed lightly, knowing that soon she'd be spouting out ridiculousness.

"All right then… what do we have here?" Professor Slughorn asked with a wide smile. When Hermione explained what each of them had made, Professor Slughorn asked the two boys to drink their Ageing Potions first, before Hermione took her Babbling Beverage.

"Bottoms up, Harry," Ron said, and he dropped a tiny amount of his solution onto his tongue. Harry did the same, being very conservative with the amount. They both pulled faces at the taste of the potion, and Hermione watched with fascination as they both began to visibly change.

Ron grew taller by about a half an inch, but no more. Harry stayed the same height. Hermione flicked her eyes back at forth between the boys, fascinated. Ron's lanky frame grew a bit fleshier, while Harry stayed stocky as ever (though perhaps a bit more pillowy around the middle). The biggest changes were from the neck up. Both of their faces suddenly seemed ragged and tired, with little lines etched into their skin and sallow bags beneath their eyes. Thin threads of grey worked their way through Harry's black hair, while Ron's ginger mop grew dull and dusty-looking.

"Blimey, Harry," Ron frowned, "You look terrible."

Harry scoffed. "You look pretty awful yourself, mate."

Hermione giggled. "You both look about forty," she informed them, "and it seems as though twenty-odd years of life has made you both tired, plump, and significantly less 'hunky.' Oh, Harry… I reckon Ginny'll find you a proper peach!"

She buckled over in laughter at the look of horror on Harry's face as he realized he was going to have to avoid Ginny Weasley until the Ageing Potion wore off. Hermione stood back up, collecting herself as she suddenly registered that the boys had artificially matured themselves to almost exactly the same age as Severus, at least in appearance. And there Hermione was, laughing hysterically about how Ginny would be horrified to see Harry looking that age… Severus' age.

Well, perhaps now she'll understand, Hermione thought rather bitterly, that a few gray hairs and crow's feet shouldn't cast a man unattractive.

"All right, then, Miss Granger," said Professor Slughorn at last. "Your potion appears to have been brewed properly. Would you go ahead and consume it, please?"

"Oh… I'm not exactly looking forward to this," Ron groaned from beside Hermione. She scowled at him, trying not to laugh at the way he resembled his father. She spooned some of the bubblegum pink Babbling Beverage into a phial and tipped it into her mouth. It tasted vaguely sweet for a moment, but then there was a sharp spiciness that burned down her throat. Hermione coughed a few times and spluttered. Harry, seeming to have forgotten he was angry with her, clapped her hard on the back.

"You all right, 'Mione?" asked Ron. Hermione glanced up and nodded quickly.

"The trees simplify the gift of rhythm," she assured him. Then, realizing that the words she'd spoken made no sense at all, she furrowed her brows and frowned. She tried again, focusing hard on trying to tell him she was fine. "Super teller gives all credit due to spaghetti."

Now it was Harry and Ron who were laughing uproariously, Ron to the point that he could scarcely breathe. Over the boys' guffaws, Professor Slughorn said to Hermione,

"Well, Miss Granger, it seems you've brewed quite the successful Babbling Beverage! Ten points to Gryffindor and full marks, my dear! Perhaps try not to speak too much in Professor Snape's lessons next period; I can't anticipate he would be too kind about this one…"

Hermione nodded and smiled weakly. He was right, probably, she thought. In years past, or with any other student, Severus would have been merciless after the consumption of this potion.

But when Hermione walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, she realized that her nonsensical streams of consciousness were going to be the least of Severus' concerns today.

* * *

A zoo.

A madhouse.

Horace Slughorn had turned the third-floor room in which Severus currently stood into utter pandemonium. It was no longer a classroom; that much was certain.

Lavender Brown had been his first clue that something was terribly wrong with his sixth-year students. The Gryffindor girl had come sailing in through his door, trailed by a spiffed-up Parvati Patil. Lavender had been singing, actually singing, about how happy she was to be alive.

"Today, more so than any other day, I am elated! Simply elated!" she had chirped, and Severus had immediately known the girl had consumed Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Lavender Brown was a birdbrain on the best of days, but this was excessive.

And what exactly had changed with Miss Patil? Had she slathered on an obscene amount of makeup? No… that wasn't it, but she suddenly looked a bit different from her twin sister Padma, whom Severus had just dismissed from his Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff lessons.

"Miss Brown, take your seat, please," Severus had scolded, when Lavender had pranced over to the window and thrown it open to merrily breathe in the warm May air. She had listened to him, twirling in circles to her desk with her arms waving in happy arcs. Parvati had stifled a giggle. "Miss Patil, would you care to explain what I should expect as the rest of the class arrives?" Severus had asked with an irritated sigh, stalking to the window and shutting it firmly. "I sense that you've all just consumed assorted potions, yes?"

"Yes, sir," Parvati had admitted. "Professor Slughorn had us all brew something from our texts and we had to drink what we made. It turned out… erm… interestingly, sir."

"Interestingly." Severus had repeated the word bitterly and sat back in his chair, waiting for the rest of the class to arrive with a deep sense of dread.

The pit in his stomach was not disappointed. Seamus Finnegan had come in spouting flames like a dragon, and Severus had barked at him to breathe through his nostrils for the remainder of the lesson or he'd take fifty points from Gryffindor and assign Seamus detentions.

Neville Longbottom had come teetering in like a complete buffoon, his hands grotesquely frozen in midair. Severus tried to think of what potion would cause that precise effect and could not. Then he realized that Neville Longbottom was a complete dolt at Potions and must have botched his work. Well, that's hardly surprising…

A few of the Slytherins had come in together, with Draco Malfoy showing off his voiceover-worthy Volubilis effects to Pansy Parkinson (who appeared to have used a potion to change her hair color). Vincent Crabbe physically appeared to be a second or third year, which rather horrified Severus. On the Gryffindor side of the room, Dean Thomas came sauntering in holding a mirror up to his own face and stroking his jaw approvingly.

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley walked in, self-consciously made their way to a desk, and quickly arranged their books. They both looked like haggard forty-year-olds, and Severus frowned deeply when he realized that Harry looked very much the way James Potter would if he'd been alive today. He scowled angrily and wondered where Hermione was, pondering with a bit of morbid curiosity in what way she'd mutilated herself with a potion.

Finally, she came walking briskly through the door and sat at her usual desk, taking out her textbook and parchment and quill and folding her hands upon the desk. She glanced around and shook her head rather disapprovingly at Lavender Brown, who was now using her wand to conjure a shimmering flower. The Euphoric girl clapped with unmitigated glee at her creation, and Hermione scoffed.

Severus frowned, confused. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with Hermione, and she did not look any different. Had she been exempt from the assignment for some reason?

Realizing he was already five minutes late in starting his lesson, Severus rose from his desk and said firmly,

"All of you - including you, Miss Brown - recognize this instant that your silliness from Potions lessons will not be allowed to bleed into our productivity today. I do not care if you are capable of breathing fire, Mr. Finnegan. Use your nose. Mr. Malfoy, your new voice is unimpressive. And Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley… all I can say is that the two of you had best find wives whilst you're young. You'd have a rough go of it twenty years from now."

Severus saw Hermione stifle a giggle at his rude comment, though Potter and Weasley scowled at one another angrily. Severus turned to Hermione and asked pointedly,

"Miss Granger, am I to infer that you so terribly botched your assignment that you had no potion to consume?"

She shook her head silently at him, chewing on her lip. Severus smirked. "Silencing Potion?" he asked, his voice cold and teasing. Hermione shook her head again. "If it wasn't a Silencing Potion, Miss Granger, then your lack of verbal response is patently disrespectful. Do tell… how have you managed to escape the scourge of visible symptoms?"

Hermione sighed, looking irritated. Then she frowned up at Severus and said rather deliberately, "White mice on the ring of keys, dried butterflies in my veins for the kisses on Sundays. Afraid of death and no one sleeps if mired in bread sauce and keeping the tea light blanketed by snow."

Severus tried very hard not to laugh aloud at the ridiculous stream of words she pronounced with a hint of anger in her voice. "Babbling Beverage," he said in a clip, as Hermione's fellow students laughed quietly around her. "Well, at least we shall all be spared your supercilious question-asking and unsolicited lectures today, Miss Granger. How ironic that the great Gryffindor know-it-all is silenced by a Babbling Beverage."

That last bit was too mean, Severus, he scolded himself, seeing the look of genuine hurt cross her chestnut eyes. You're bullying her, actually bullying her, in front of everyone. Stop it.

He felt even worse when he heard Pansy Parkinson sneer in a whisper to Millicent Bulstrode, "First time in six years anything's shut the Mudblood up. We'll have to slip it into her pumpkin juice every day, eh?"

"Ten points from Slytherin, Miss Parkinson," Severus said smoothly, ignoring the way Pansy's mouth dropped open indignantly. Severus started his lesson on the use of Protego totalum to shield a space, trying to ignore the freak show that constituted his student body.

At the end of the lesson, he sat at his desk and watched as the artificially middle-aged Potter and Weasley packed up their bags. Lavender Brown's bag was being packed by an impatient Parvati Patil, while Lavender hopped about in a little jig of delight and clapped her hands to an improvised song about the taste of elderflower wine.

"Miss Granger," Severus drawled, "Remain here for a brief conference, if you would."

He kept looking at the parchment he was marking, but saw out of his peripheral vision the way Weasley, and especially Potter, eyed Hermione before they headed out of the room.

"See you at lunch, 'Mione," Weasley said cautiously. Hermione nodded silently at the boys. Parvati Patil finally dragged the elated Lavender Brown from the classroom, and Severus locked the door behind the girls.

Hermione stood in front of his desk and stared at him silently, a little look of angry expectation in her brown eyes.

Severus set down his quill and smacked his lips gently. He was not very good at this… at all.

"I… wish to apologize," he admitted, trying to look her in the eyes as he spoke. He felt embarrassment wash over him. He very rarely admitted defeat or begged for pardon, and so he was dreadfully out of practice. Hermione cocked an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to continue. He did, slowly and carefully. "It was wrong of me to harass you in lessons as I did. I should not have… even if I were trying to create the illusion of distance between us… in any case, Hermione, you know I do not think you are a 'know-it-all,' or that you ask too many questions."

But Hermione quirked a bitter little smile at him and nodded quickly as if to insist, 'Yes, you do!' at him. Severus pinched his lips. She was right, in a way. For years, he'd found her pushy eagerness to be obnoxious.

"You've always been too bright for your own good, Hermione," he said quietly, fingering his quill absently with his slender fingers, "and certainly too bright for the rest of us to deal with gracefully. I'm sorry. That's all I wanted to say."

"Turn me into a shadow among the flames of monstrous leaves," Hermione said nonsensically, and she frowned as Severus chuckled darkly under his breath. She stepped around his desk and moved to stand between Severus' legs, ensnaring her fingers in his black hair and sending a shiver down his spine. He planted soft kisses along her collarbone as she stood before him, and she whispered, "Harvests of salt become dry on moss in the stars of my table."

"Stop it," Severus insisted, laughing a bit against her jumper. He could not help himself; she sounded completely absurd. It was her voice, but the words were so strange it was as if she were speaking another language. He assured her, "It will wear off soon enough. If you took it at the end of your Potions lesson, then you've only got a few more hours left with it."

She leaned down to kiss his forehead softly, then his cheekbones, and then his lips. Severus felt a firmness in his trousers at once the instant she kissed him, but neither of them had time to appease that desire. He let his hands fall from her shoulders and pushed her back a bit, staring at her as he said again,

"I should not have mocked you in front of everyone. It was cruel. Forgive me."

"I'll evaporate the sun with the sticky tissue of zeal," Hermione assured him with a gentle nod, pushing a stray lock of black hair from his face. Severus furrowed his eyebrows at her bizarre speech, shaking his head and smirking crookedly at her. She kissed him softly once again and then said, "Tremble under a motionless dragonfly… stagger and want and believing he's lonely because of the panda inside of the autumn leaves."

"Indeed," Severus cocked an eyebrow and nodded with feigned enthusiasm. "Yes. What you are saying is the next great philosophical revelation. However, you shall be late to Arithmancy, and I believe Professor Vector is growing weary of that habit. Out with you, you rambling lunatic."

He stood and pulled her against him in an embrace, holding her there for a long moment. He smelled her hair - daisies and mist mingling perfectly - and tipped her chin up to kiss her lips softly.

"You don't have to say anything back," he began, pressing his mouth to hers and dragging his fingertips down her jawline until they rested upon her throat, where her magic rested. "Indeed… perhaps it would be better if you did not, given your current inability to say anything that makes a modicum of sense. But I need to tell you something."

Hermione stared up at him, curiosity and concern mingling in her amber eyes. Severus felt a twinge of anxiety in his gut as he tried desperately to singe the beautiful image of her face into his mind. He stroked her throat delicately, just as he'd done months and months ago before everything between them had become so complicated.

"It's coming, very soon," he murmured with regret, and he saw her eyes darken instantly with understanding. "My time with you is now counted in days. I have no idea if I shall ever see you again after it all takes place, or whether I shall be able to keep you as safe as I want… need… you to be."

The unwanted, foreign burning sensation in his eyes was unpleasant and unhelpful, and Severus willed it away with a push of grit. He brushed the pad of his thumb under Hermione's eye and kissed her softly, taking a long moment before he said,

"But you must remember, Hermione, through all of it, that I love you, very much. I… feel rather a fool for it, in fact. Last week I was forced to watch while a wizard was administered the Cruciatus Curse for two hours solid, then murdered. They did it because he was Muggle-born, and the thought of them doing anything like that to you made me want to be sick, made me want to kill them all. And do you know, I would. I would kill all of them to keep you safe. And I would take the Cruciatus Curse in perpetuity if it meant you would be happy and well."

He'd made her cry, and Severus felt rather guilty about that. She stared up at him with her bottom lip quivering a bit, a tear wriggling down her cheek as she squared her jaw.

"When the fish walk into the moonbeams, take my hands into a naked river on the grass. Walking up the feathers in the emerald sky, she waited for her cousin's busy bottle to appear," Hermione whispered firmly. Severus curled up his lips and shook his head.

"Stop talking, you silly girl," he commanded her, planting a soft kiss on her lips once more. "You're making no sense at all, and I'm trying to explain to you that I'm very desperately in love with you."

When he saw her hours later at dinner in the Great Hall, she was talking animatedly with others at the Gryffindor table, and he figured the Babbling Beverage had to have worn off by then. At one point, she flicked her eyes up to him, and their contact lingered for a moment before Severus blinked hard and looked back down to his plate.

It was all very true, he realized, all very painfully true. The time he had with her was slipping away like sand through an hourglass. In two weeks Death Eaters would swarm the school and Dumbledore would be dead. And what became of Hermione, and him, after that was something no method of Divination or Arithmancy equation could predict.

Fate could only take them so far. A good bit of the path ahead depended upon the decisions that would be made, and so Severus resolved to make a few.


	6. Chapter 6

Severus had told her that their time together could be counted in days.

After that conversation, when she'd been incomprehensible from the Babbling Beverage, Hermione had returned to her dormitory and chewed upon her fingernails anxiously until she'd had an idea.

Severus had given her a tool to Apparate to him. That must have meant he was assuming she would be somewhere where he was not. There was little chance, then, that the following school year was going to process normally.

Where was Hermione going to go, exactly? She had no idea, but from the sounds of it, she was going to need to flee. Severus had made it clear that Voldemort had terror in store for Muggle-borns. So Hermione had gone straight to the library and done research on Undetectable Expansion Charms. She had taken a small, purple beaded handbag that she'd bought years earlier and cast the complicated Expansion Charms upon it until the bag had room for all sorts of supplies. Hermione had no idea where she would be going after the end of term, so she had no idea what she was going to need. So she put everything she could think of inside the bag.

She packed a variety of clothing, for warm weather and cold alike. She packed some dry food that she procured from Dobby, and some Dittany and Murtlap Essence that she'd asked Severus to give her.

He'd narrowed his eyes but handed the little vials over without any questions, and Hermione suspected he knew she was preparing for the worst. Indeed, there had been a sort of nonverbal approval in the way he'd given her the healing potions she'd requested, and he'd hesitated for the briefest of moments before retreating to his stores and silently emerging with a few more useful medical potions for her.

Hermione had put her brass Oraverit inside the bag, and she had cinched it tightly, keeping it with her all the time. Even now, days later, as she sat in the common room with her fellow Gryffindors, the bag resided safely at her hip.

"Hermione?"

She glanced up from her copy of the Daily Prophet to see Ginny Weasley standing nervously in front of her. The red-haired girl glanced around anxiously before sitting on the divan beside Hermione, who sat up straighter and scrunched her eyebrows curiously. Ginny lowered her voice,

"How do you tell a boy that… that you love him?"

"Oh… Ginny…" Hermione raised her eyebrows, very surprised. Then she furrowed them again. Ginny and Harry had only been together a very brief while, Hermione thought, and they were both quite inexperienced with the idea of romantic love. Not that Hermione had much more experience, but… in any case, it seemed a bit odd. "Are you quite certain?"

"Well," Ginny swallowed heavily. "It's just that I was reading in Witch Weekly that Harry is 'The Most Desirable Young Wizard in Britain.' And I just feel as though if I don't make it quite clear before summer that I'm very fond of him… well, what if he decides to go with someone else?"

Suddenly Ginny looked a bit concerned, and Hermione was baffled. Ginny was perhaps one of the least emotionally expressive females Hermione had ever met, and this bit of sadness and jealousy seemed grossly out-of-character for her.

"Ginny, you're being silly," Hermione insisted. "Was this a Rita Skeeter article, by any chance?"

Ginny sighed but shook her head. "No; it was by Willa Granners. But she kept insisting that Harry was 'handsome, eligible, and wealthy.' And all of that is quite true, of course! But he's mine, you know? Right?"

Hermione chuckled and shook her head. "Ginny, Harry is bonkers for you," she assured the girl. "I've been his very good platonic friend - contrary to what that magazine said - for the past six years. And I've never seen him hit his knees in interest the way he's done for you."

Ginny smiled sadly and nodded. "Do you ever get jealous about… him?" she asked suddenly, and Hermione knew she meant Severus. She laughed a bit and shrugged.

"Jealous of whom?" she asked, genuinely wondering. As far as Hermione knew, there were no witches banging down the doors of Severus' private quarters at night.

"Well, the man's nearly forty years old. You have to think he's been with quite a few women, right?" Ginny looked a bit peaky at the thought, and Hermione frowned as she realized that her friend was disgusted by the thought of Severus being sexual.

"Of course I'm sure he's had experience," Hermione nodded. "As you said, he's older than I am. But that doesn't matter now. I love Severus, and he loves me." She was whispering now, so that none of the few others in the common room would hear. "All I care about is what is between Severus and myself… I have to keep all the other distractions out, or I'd go mad. I'd advise you to try to think similarly about Harry."

"Thank you, Hermione." Ginny grinned cheekily then and said, "You ought to write an advice column for Witch Weekly."

The girls giggled a bit at the notion of that. Then the firelight in front of them was shaded as the silhouette of Ron Weasley blocked it out.

"What's so funny?" he demanded. Ginny stuck her tongue out playfully at her brother, who opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, the portrait hole opened and Harry Potter came dashing anxiously through the space.

"What does Dumbledore want?" Hermione demanded anxiously. "Harry, are you okay?"

He rather ignored her, shouting that he was fine. Hermione stared at Ginny and Ron for a few moments in stunned silence after Harry disappeared to the boys' dormitory.

"I have a feeling this is going to turn into one of our End-Of-The-Year Action Extravaganzas," Ron said gloomily, "and I'm not terribly excited about that notion. I've got to say, after six years… I'd like to just take a final exam and get on the damned train, you know?"

Hermione smirked glumly as Harry dashed back into the common room. Ginny took a step back from Hermione and Ron, looking unsure about whether or not she should be there. Over the next few minutes, Harry frantically explained to them that he and Dumbledore were leaving the school to find one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Then he expressed intense anxiety at the idea of Dumbledore's absence, that the school would be bereft of his protection and that Malfoy (and, he added, 'that greasy git Snape') would be free to carry out their dastardly plots.

The most alarming bit of news Harry had to share, though, regarded Professor Trelawney, whom Harry had apparently encountered outside the Room of Requirement. In the course of explaining away some bizarre activity, Trelawney had revealed that, the night she had prophesied about Harry, Severus Snape had overheard her words and reported them to Lord Voldemort.

Hermione tried to argue with Harry, who had hastily shoved over a sock filled with a bottle of Felix Felicis. He'd insisted that his friends share it among themselves and rally the troops of Dumbledore's Army to protect the Room of Requirement. Harry believed strongly that, without Dumbledore, Death Eaters might get into the school. He planted a firm kiss on Ginny's mouth and left through the portrait hole as quickly as he'd come, and Hermione was left standing with Ginny and Ron in shock.

They'd each taken a bit of the Felix Felicis, and with Hermione feeling quite light in her shoes, she'd left Gryffindor Tower with Ginny. They gathered outside the Room of Requirement and waited for a solid twenty minutes, but after that time only Neville and Luna appeared. Ron insisted that they needed manpower in the dungeons, since he and Harry were now thoroughly convinced that Severus was part of the scheming going on. So everyone but Luna and Hermione stayed outside the Room of Requirement, while the two girls headed down a winding staircase in silence.

At last, they reached the Potions corridor. Hermione stood on one side of the door outside Severus' office, twisting her wand so hard in her hands she worried she might snap it in two. Luna scuffed her feet on the rug that ran down the middle of the corridor and hummed a little song.

"How shall we know if there's anything going on?" Luna wondered distantly. "Unless the invading forces utilize awfully loud means, I should think we would be the very last ones to know anything!"

"Yes, well, if Ron and Harry are to be believed, then Professor Snape should come barging out of here at any moment," Hermione said tersely, "and we can Stun him. Then we'll know something's going on."

Luna turned over her shoulder and smiled serenely at Hermione. "Oh, I don't believe he's truly bad. No more than you do."

Hermione crumpled her eyebrows and felt her heart thump a bit inside of her chest. She said nothing, and a few more long moments passed in which the only sound was Luna's incessant humming. Hermione slumped against the wall and tapped her wand against her knee, sending a shiver of jade sparks out of its energized tip in her nervousness.

"Why don't you just go in there and talk to him?" Luna asked at last.

"What?" Hermione scowled at her. Luna pivoted on her heel as she paced and shrugged.

"It seemed rather daft for us to wait out here in the corridor for no reason. Would you mind going in there and asking him if we have any reason to be concerned? He may not even realize that Professor Dumbledore's left the castle tonight, you know."

Hermione stared at Luna for a very long moment. Luna's calm, pale eyes showed almost no emotion, but the corners of her lips were curled up in a small, knowing smile. Hermione realized at once that Luna had been suspicious of her and Severus since that party Slughorn had thrown months earlier, and perhaps before then. The girl's intuitive nature, as well as her ability to keep secrets, suddenly endeared her enormously to Hermione, who rose creakily from the floor.

She put her hand on the latch of the door that led into Severus' office and pushed gently, feeling the heavy wood give way. When the door was a few inches open, she heard his stern voice inside say,

"I am not presently available for office hours."

So she slipped through the threshold and, not caring much if Luna heard, murmured, "It's just me, Severus."

* * *

Severus set his quill down upon his desk and sighed heavily as he looked up to see Hermione standing in his doorway. He flicked his wand at the Blishen's firewhisky he'd been nursing and Vanished it, not wanting her to see him drinking out of anxiety.

"Hello," he said simply, curling his hands together upon the desk. She stared at him - glared, really - and he pinched his lips as he said, "Isn't it past curfew?"

"Severus, is there any reason that Death Eaters might be paying Hogwarts a visit this evening?" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. In her amber eyes, Severus detected a mixture of suspicion and fear, and he chewed the inside of his cheek for a long moment before he said,

"Let me simply say that, any day now, I would be unsurprised if Amycus Carrow were standing in your place." Severus felt a pang of worry flush through him, wondering if something were happening upstairs even now. "Why do you ask?"

"Because Professor Trelawney saw… witnessed... Draco Malfoy celebrating in the Room of Requirement," Hermione said in a clip. "She then told Harry, who passed that on to me, along with some other very interesting information."

"I'm sure it was very interesting, as many things are once they're filtered through the minds of the insane," Severus frowned. "Sybill Trelawney is practically deranged, Hermione. Please go to bed; I'm afraid I'm not much in the mood for socialization this evening."

"You overheard Harry's prophecy." It wasn't a question. Hermione took a few steps into the office and stared down at Severus' desk, her eyes shining with betrayal. Severus ground his teeth, knowing full well that that was what Sybill Trelawney would have told Harry. Unable to lie to Hermione, he gave a small shrug and cocked his head.

"I did. What of it?"

"You got Harry's parents killed," she whispered, her voice cracking with disbelief. Severus felt a flash of hurt then, at the accusation that he'd killed Lily, no matter how indirectly.

"No," he whispered insistently, his mouth falling open. He leaned forward on his desk. "Peter Pettigrew got them killed when he betrayed their location. I only heard part of the prophecy and had no idea it was referring to Lily's son."

He quickly realized how he'd phrased his words, and he saw Hermione's thick eyebrows crumple in confused hurt. "Lily's son?" she repeated.

"Please go to bed," Severus repeated, his head abruptly spinning and his heart beating quickly in his chest. "I haven't the energy for this tonight, Hermione…"

"Severus." Hermione stalked quickly around his desk and put her hands lightly upon his shoulders when he turned his torso to face her. He felt his face scowling up at her and fought hard to soften his expression, but couldn't. She chewed her lip and said quietly, "I love you, Severus, and if I never see you again after tonight, I shall be very heartbroken to have left it like this. Please kiss me, just once."

Severus felt a flame in his chest then, a rising sort of resolve, as he put his hands on Hermione's waist and hauled himself up to hover his face above hers. He lowered his lips and drifted them along hers as one hand rose to cup her face. He stroked her jaw and listened to her breathe for a moment, his lips ghosting hers in a delicate kiss. Then he whispered against her mouth, his voice a low and quiet growl,

"I love you, Hermione Jean Granger. I do. I love you."

He deepened the kiss, sighing and pulling her waist against him as his body screamed out for him to take her through the doorway into his private chambers. But all he could do was stand there, his tongue dancing with hers as a low groan vibrated from his mouth into hers.

Then, suddenly, the office door flew open and Luna Lovegood stood panting in the threshold.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," she said with a preternatural serenity. Hermione flew away from Severus, swiping the back of her mouth with her hand. Severus felt his heart stop with shocked horror as he stumbled quickly backward, clearing his throat loudly. Luna ignored their embarrassment and continued, "Sir, Professor Flitwick came dashing down the corridor, saying that you were needed upstairs at once. He said there were Death Eaters in the castle! Only, he was about to open your door and I thought he might see… anyway, I Stunned him, and I'm very sorry for that, but -"

"No matter. Twenty points to Ravenclaw, Miss Lovegood," Severus said hurriedly, snatching his wand from his desk. He was suddenly flooded with a rush of strange, conflicting, strong emotions. He was grateful that Luna did not care that he'd been kissing Hermione, and grateful that she'd kept Filius Flitwick from seeing. But he was filled with dread as he realized that the fateful moment he'd been putting off for a year was here at last - the night he would have to murder Albus Dumbledore.

He turned briskly to Hermione and swallowed heavily, feeling his breath panting in his chest a bit with fear as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Do you have your Oraverit?" He asked her, and she nodded with a look of terror and sadness in her wide chestnut eyes. Realizing with a stab of physical pain that this may be the final time he ever saw her, Severus completely disregarded Luna Lovegood's presence, and he leaned down to plant a firm kiss upon Hermione's lips. She sniffed shakily, fighting back tears, as he murmured sternly, "Remember, please… I am on your side."

Then he strode quickly from the room, leaving the two girls standing bewildered in his office.

* * *

There were spells flying all about Hermione, illuminating the Great Hall like a display of fireworks. Purple flames and red sparks and the occasional terrifying flash of telltale green lit up the darkness.

Time seemed to be moving excruciatingly slowly as Hermione took in the terrifying scenes around her. Bill Weasley - when had he gotten here? - was lying injured on the ground. Ginny was dueling with Amycus Carrow. A Death Eater man was wreaking havoc, everywhere at once, frantically pursued by the pink-haired figure of Nymphadora Tonks.

"Crucio!"

Suddenly, Hermione felt her body crumple to the floor as a searing hot wave of painful agony shot through her. It was as though her body had exploded; her limbs were on fire and her head was screaming and she was convulsing upon the ground. When at last it ended, Hermione rolled over and whimpered quietly and saw the terrifying figure of Bellatrix Lestrange hovering over her.

"Well, if it isn't Severus' Mudblood slut!" The black-haired witch flashed Hermione a mean-spirited grin, pointing her curved wand down. Hermione reached for her own wand, which had fallen from her hand, and coughed in misery, but Bellatrix kicked the wand away before Hermione could retrieve it. Bellatrix tossed her wild sooty curls back and said, "Oh! I am glad to see you, poppet! I'm going to have such fun with you!"

Realizing her life was in serious jeopardy, Hermione determinedly pushed herself up to sit and shut her eyes. She focused all of her energy on quickly concentrating her magic in her throat, whipping it frantically into a hot, white ball of power. Then she thrust her hand upward at Bellatrix Lestrange, popping her eyes open and screaming,

"Stupefy!"

Bellatrix flew backward, her crazed eyes going wide with shock the moment the wandless spell struck her in the chest. Then she crashed to the ground, unconscious. Hermione snatched Bellatrix's wand and snapped it deliberately in half, tossing the two pieces away from Bellatrix's crumpled form before grabbing her own wand and dashing from the Great Hall.

"Hermione!" Ginny Weasley shouted at her breathlessly, "Snape's escaping with most of the Death Eaters out the front gates! Harry's following them; I just saw them running out there!"

Hermione felt her heart pounding as she dashed across the courtyard, past the clock tower, and onto the path in the front of the school. She pushed her body up against the stone ramparts of the castle when she saw the horde of wizards outside, and watched in horror as Thorfinn Rowle pointed his wand gleefully at Hagrid's Hut, which sprang afire a moment later. Then she clapped a hand to her mouth and tried harder to hide as Severus' black form, looking more wraith-like than ever, strode quickly across the front grounds of the school. Hermione could see Harry behind him, and she peered around the corner of the wall as she watched Harry point his wand at Severus. She clutched her own wand instinctively, even as Severus effortlessly deflected the spells Harry was casting at him. Finally, she heard Severus scream,

"No, Potter!" With a resounding bang, Harry flew backward. Hermione gasped quietly and watched as Severus fiercely stalked to stand above him. "You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them. I, the Half-Blood Prince! And you'd turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, would you? I don't think so… no."

There was another little bang and a whirling black projectile as Harry's wand went flying away from him, cast away by Severus' hex.

"Kill me, then!" Hermione heard Harry yell back at Severus. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward!"

And then, with a sinking feeling of utter panic, Hermione realized who 'he' was. Harry was here, and the school was in chaos. If 'he' had been here, they'd know it. Where was Albus Dumbledore?

Severus killed Professor Dumbledore, Hermione thought, feeling dizzy and sick. Then she heard Severus bellow back at Harry,

"Dont - call me - COWARD!" Hermione watched in abject horror as Severus' face contorted in agony, as if someone were using the Cruciatus Curse on him. Then he sliced his wand fiercely and Harry was slammed backward again against the ground. Hermione felt as though her heart were going to rip itself from her chest as she watched Severus whirl away from Harry, dashing away from Buckbeak, who had suddenly appeared protectively.

The hippogriff pursued Severus to the edge of the school grounds, where Severus disappeared with a resounding crack! Hermione slumped against the stone wall, staring up into the night sky at the glittering Dark Mark that shimmered above the Astronomy Tower.

"Severus…" she whispered dejectedly, feeling hot tears boil from her eyes and stream down her cheeks, "How could you?"

She reached into her drawstring bag and impulsively pulled out her Oraverit. She fingered the pocket-watch anxiously as a crazed thought went through her head that she could go to him right now. But then she shoved the watch back into the bag and cinched it up again, heaving herself off of the ground and making her way to where Harry lay in a crumpled heap.

* * *

Severus Apparated with a crack onto the dark, wet street and promptly vomited.

His nausea was not brought on by the usual head-spinning Apparation could cause, but rather a deep sense of disgust for what he'd done. He crumpled to his knees, alone on Spinner's End, and let himself heave out deep, shaking breaths for several moments before pushing himself to his feet.

He looked around the dismal place and shuddered. Weeks previously, The Dark Lord had directed his minions been told to scatter after tonight's events, and so Severus had flashed away from the Hogwarts grounds and landed here, where he'd passed a miserable childhood and now tried to come as infrequently as possible.

He stalked down the sidewalk and found his mind swarming with grief, with regret, with fear. He could still see Albus Dumbledore flying off the Astronomy Tower as Severus pointed his wand at him. What no one else there had realized was that Severus hadn't murdered the old man with a Killing Curse - he hadn't been able to summon enough wicked energy to do so. So he'd wordlessly cast an Expelliarmus at the wandless, weakened Dumbledore, and the spell had sent him flying off the tower to his death. Meanwhile, Severus had said aloud, "Avada Kedavra," and no one was the wiser.

Ultimately, it did not matter whether Albus Dumbledore crumpled to a heap in a flash of green or tumbled hundreds of feet to his death. It didn't matter one bit. He was still dead, and Severus had still killed him.

It didn't matter that the old fool had let his hand rot away for a year and had made Severus promise to murder him in some valiant attempt to save the soul of Draco Malfoy. That didn't matter at all now. Severus was still a vicious assassin, as far as the world would be concerned, and Albus Dumbledore was not here to tell them otherwise.

And then there was Hermione. Where was she, Severus wondered? Was she safe? There had been hexes and Killing Curses flying around like fireworks; had she managed to escape them? How long until somehow word got back to her that Severus had been the one to kill Dumbledore? Potter had known; he'd been there, hidden beneath his father's cloak. Severus had sensed him there and had ignored him to protect the little bastard, but he knew Potter would now go screaming from every rooftop that Severus was a killer through and through.

Killing Dumbledore would certainly help Severus move up within the ranks of Voldemort's followers, but that was no longer something he craved. Furthermore, that would do him little good in terms of helping protect Hermione, and that was all he really concerned himself with at the moment. Was she safe? Was she even alive? Did she hate him yet?

Severus arrived at his garden gate and swung the creaky thing open, stepping over a few weeds as he padded up to the door. He pulled out his wand and surreptitiously unwarded the place, sincerely grateful that Wormtail had been sent away from here. Severus needed to be alone right now.

He needed to be drunk, he decided, thoroughly and disgustingly drunk. So the moment he stepped through his door, he flung his traveling robe onto the hook by the entryway and started working on the buttons of his frock coat. He left it open and yanked off his cravat before loosening the top few buttons of his white dress shirt. He kicked off his shoes and hurried into his library, wandlessly Summoning a crystal tumbler and bottle of Blishen's Firewhisky.

He ignored the dust on the tumbler and poured a generous amount of liquor into it, knocking it back and relishing the way the liquid hurt when he swallowed. It burned and seared its way into his chest, and he poured another gulp's worth into the glass.

'Severus, please...'

Severus growled as he swallowed, mouthful after mouthful of the firewhisky, until he was swaying on his feet and felt positively woozy. He would drink until he passed out if that was what it took to make Dumbledore's voice go silent in his head, to make Hermione's face erased from the backs of his eyelids.

Hermione… as he thought of her again, Severus let out a helpless, low groan and poured more whisky, spilling a bit of it onto his wooden side table. He didn't care enough, nor did he have the coordination, to get his wand and siphon up the fluid.

There was a sudden, loud knock upon Severus' front door, and he realized abruptly that he'd forgotten to ward up his house after Apparating from Hogwarts. He rushed over to the door as a little twinge in his chest told him that it might be her…

But it wasn't. When he opened the door, Severus was staring into the wild-eyed, enraged face of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Evening, Snape," she said with mock friendliness.

"Bella." Severus contemplated stepping aside and letting her into his home, but he didn't trust her any more than she trusted him, so he simply swayed in his doorway and waited for her to speak.

"Piss drunk already, are we?" Bellatrix eyed Severus' empty tumbler and the way his glassy eyes regarded her, and she cackled meanly. "Looks as though someone's a bit troubled by having to kill the Headmaster."

"I did what I promised Narcissa I would do," Severus slurred, holding his glass up to his lips before realizing that there was nothing in it. He scowled and directed his right hand at his left, thinking, 'evanesco,' and Vanishing the tumbler with neither word nor wand.

"Ah, yes!" Bellatrix hissed suddenly, "your little Mudblood whore can do that, too! She doesn't need a wand, either! And apparently, neither do I! She snapped mine in two, you see… right after she Stunned me with her bare hand!"

Bellatrix glared furiously at Severus. He fought hard to keep his drunken eyes plain and unresponsive, even as his insides curled with delight at the idea of Hermione fighting off Bellatrix. So, his efforts with her hadn't been for nothing, then.

Good girl, Hermione, Severus thought distantly, and he shrugged at Bellatrix.

"I'm sure the Dark Lord will be more than happy to provide you with one of the wands we've procured from the Muggle-born prisoners," he drawled, and Bellatrix flashed her dark eyes at him, sneering,

"That isn't the point, Snape, and you know it! How is it, exactly, that a little girl managed to cast a wandless Stunning Spell?"

"She's a clever thing, I'll give her that," Severus cocked his head with feigned disinterest. "Would you care for me to apologize on her behalf, Bella? Fine. I'm very sorry that the Muggle-born informant I shagged was able to overwhelm you. Happy?"

Bellatrix was silent for a long, seething moment. "I hope you had your fun with her," she whispered, her voice deadly in its seriousness, "because the next time you see your little Mudblood bitch, she'll be in pieces. My sister may trust you, and the Dark Lord may trust you, but I do not trust you. And I see straight through you… all the way right to your little slut. Hm!"

She flicked a kinky curl behind her shoulder and quirked up a wicked smile. She scuffed her shoe upon Severus' doorstep and slid her tongue over her teeth while Severus felt his insides screaming in protest, his mind buzzing with alarm. He kept his face stony as a tombstone while Bellatrix murmured demurely, "Have to hand to you both. Tricksy little rogues, the both of you. But I'll have you each in the end. Goodnight, Snape."

And then she turned and disappeared off into the darkness of Spinner's End. A few seconds later, Severus heard a little pop and knew that she was gone. He shut his door and fought hard not to panic.

* * *

"Harry! Harry, you have to get up!" Hermione shook Harry's shoulder roughly and glanced behind her to see that the Dark Mark was still shining above the Astronomy Tower. On the ground below it, a crowd was gathering. They were all staring at something on the ground. With a pit of despair sinking through her gut, Hermione thought that it must have been him - it must have been Dumbledore lying there dead, beneath the Mark, and everyone was seeing him now for the first time.

Seeing what Severus had done.

"Harry! Come on, please!" Hermione reached for her wand and pointed it at Harry's face. "Rennervate!"

Harry groused and moaned but pulled himself up to sit. He glanced slowly around himself, his bottle-green eyes dull with shock. He stared beyond Hermione, first over at Hagrid's burning hut, then up at the Dark Mark and the crowd gathered below it.

"He's dead," he muttered, and he suddenly pulled himself up to stand, clutching his wand tightly in his right hand. "Dumbledore is dead."

"I know, Harry." Hermione rose with him and placed her hand gently upon his arm, feeling hurt and shocked when Harry recoiled from her and shot her a suspicious glare.

"D'you suppose you know who did it, then?" Harry blurted at her, taking a large step backward. Hermione felt her lips part in alarm at how angry he'd become. She shook her head in confusion and furrowed her brow, but Harry continued fiercely, "'Severus.' Your beloved Severus murdered Dumbledore tonight, Hermione. S'pose Ron and I were right about him all along, eh?"

Hermione crumpled her eyebrows and felt hot tears burning over onto her cheeks. She swallowed heavily and mumbled, "Is this really the best time for an 'I told you so...'?"

"C'mon." Harry snatched her arm rather roughly and started leading Hermione over to the Astronomy Tower. She wrenched herself away from him and glared at his back as he strode away from her. Following reluctantly, Hermione could not help but be cross with Harry. He could have been wrong, after all. He could have been mistaken.

But then, Hermione thought, he probably wasn't mistaken. Severus had been telling her for months that he'd have to do something awful, something terrible, for which they would all hate him. Well, he seemed to be right about that much, if Harry's reaction was any indication.

But if he'd known he was going to have to kill Albus Dumbledore (and had been unable to tell Hermione as much), then there had to be a reasonable explanation of some kind. It had to have been part of some master plan, part of his undercover work. He'd seemed full of dread about this for some time, and the last thing he'd done before leaving his office tonight had been to kiss Hermione fiercely and say, 'I am on your side.'

So there must have been a logical explanation, Hermione thought desperately, even as her stomach churned in protest when they neared the Astronomy Tower. She could see the lifeless form of Albus Dumbledore, lying in a crumpled heap upon the ground, his white beard standing out against the dark grass.

The gathered crowd had lit their wands, and Hermione could see how Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles were splayed awkwardly upon his dead face, how blood was trickling darkly down his chin. Harry collapsed onto his knees beside the old Headmaster and stayed there a long while, eventually pulling something up from the ground - a bit of parchment and an old piece of jewelry. Harry silently read from the parchment. Hermione craned to read it but was too far away. Beside her, Ginny Weasley appeared and guided her forward.

"Come on, Harry," Ginny said gently. "McGonagall wants us in the hospital wing now. Come on, love…"

The girls pulled Harry away from Dumbledore and led him through the damaged rooms of the castle until they reached the hospital wing. Inside, Hermione saw Bill Weasley lying still as the dead upon a bed. There were others there, too - Ron, and Remus Lupin, and Tonks, and Luna Lovegood. Madam Pomfrey and Ginny explained that Bill Weasley had been attacked by Fenrir Greyback, in human form; he'd be damaged but would survive. There was no cure for werewolf attacks, Madam Pomfrey had said regretfully, but she'd do all she could.

"Dumbledore might know something that'd work, though. Where is he?" Ron glanced anxiously around as if the old wizard would appear on command. Hermione felt sick. Ron continued relentlessly, "Bill fought those maniacs on Dumbledore's orders; Dumbledore owes him. He can't just leave him in this state -"

"Ron - Dumbledore's dead," Ginny said, rather more gently than Hermione was used to her speak to any of her brothers.

"No!" Remus Lupin looked panicked, frantic, and then collapsed into a chair, heaving with sobs, as he absorbed the reality. Tonks walked over to him and placed a hand comfortingly upon his back. She swiped a tear from her own eye and looked up to Harry.

"How did he die? How did it happen?"

"Snape killed him," Harry said at once. "I was there. I saw it…"

Hermione felt as though the room around her were closing in precipitously as Harry related the terrible details of how Dumbledore had immobilized him beneath his Invisibility Cloak, how Draco Malfoy had appeared and disarmed Dumbledore, how Severus Snape had taken over for the boy and cast a Killing Curse that sent the old man to his death.

She swayed in place, dizzy and nauseated, and flicked her eyes to Ginny Weasley. Then she felt, if possible, worse, for Ginny was eyeing her with a glare of intense hatred. The younger girl's eyes were filled with seething rage, with loathing and suspicion, and when Ginny opened her mouth to speak, Hermione shook her head frantically.

"Ginny, I didn't - I had no idea… please, no -"

But Ginny jabbed her finger through the night air, straight at Hermione's face, and snarled at the others, "She was sleeping with him! They were having a torrid affair, you know!"

Hermione shut her eyes, feeling them burn with tears, and then heard nothing. Silence. Confused quiet. When she opened her eyes again, Professor McGonagall was furiously shaking her head, flicking her pale eyes between Ginny and Hermione.

"Miss Weasley, what are you talking about?" she demanded.

"Ginny…" Hermione whispered again, and she took a little step backward. She could stand here and try to deny it all, but it wouldn't work. She was a terrible liar, and this was a night of grief and anguish - she'd be worse at lying tonight than ever. She should have know, she scolded herself angrily… she should have known that Ginny would reveal her secret. Ginny was unquestionably loyal to Dumbledore, to Harry. Right now it probably seemed quite the right thing to do to rat out Hermione in front of a room of Aurors, professors, and The Boy Who Lived.

"I found out about it ages ago," Ginny said, shaking with anger. Hermione saw Harry bristle beside Ron, who suddenly looked as though he'd been forced to swallow a thousand pus-filled slugs. Remus Lupin slowly stood from his chair. He and Tonks approached the group. Feeling quite cornered, Hermione took another step backward, shaking her head. Ginny continued cruelly, "She said she loved him! Hermione Granger is in love with the man who killed Albus Dumbledore, and you're all just letting her stand there!"

Ginny was properly shrieking now. Luna Lovegood stepped up to Ginny and placed her hand serenely on the girl's forearm. "I think perhaps we ought to let Hermione explain." Luna nodded to Hermione, raising her white-blonde eyebrows expectantly.

"Yes, Miss Granger… do explain." Professor McGonagall crossed her arms furiously over her tartan robe and scowled.

Hermione tried to steady her breath enough to speak, tried to straighten her racing thoughts enough to form a cohesive sentence. "I… I admit that I was engaged in a relationship with Severus Snape," she said, holding her hands up defensively, "but I had no idea that he was going to do this. Still, I think perhaps we ought to consider the possibility that he was acting undercover, or that he had a very good reason…"

She should not have said that last bit, Hermione quickly realized. She regretted her words before they were even out of her mouth. Before she knew what was happening, Harry had yanked out his wand and pointed it at her and was striding angrily toward her. His green eyes glowed with unmitigated contempt and disgust. The second Hermione saw Harry open his mouth to hex her, she raised her right hand to him and concentrated her magic in her throat. She didn't have time to reach for her wand, nor time to properly think, before she screamed,

"Flipendo!"

She didn't upcharge the spell, so when the Knockback Jinx flew out of her palm and shot Harry in the chest, the result was that he simply flopped backward onto the floor of the Hospital Wing, landing with a thud. Ginny shrieked and Ron yelped, and suddenly Hermione had five or six wands pointed at her face.

She held her hands up and started to back away in terror, feeling her eyes go wide as she realized what she had done. "I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, but it didn't seem to do any good. The damage was wrought. Every single person in the room was glaring at her with intense suspicion, except for Luna, who hung back and looked like someone had hurt her feelings.

"Hermione," Remus Lupin said cautiously, "I've only seen three humans in my life who could cast spells like that without wands - Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Severus Snape. I think I can guess how it is you came to be able to hex Harry like that. Given what's happened tonight, I think it best that you come with Tonks and me, and we shall talk things through, eh?"

Hermione felt her back run into a wall as she ran out of room to slowly flee. She shook her head, wanting to go anywhere but with one of the Marauders - Severus' sworn enemies. Tonight, she'd feel less safe with Remus Lupin than she had that night in the Shrieking Shack her third year. Frantic and desperate, Hermione let her right hand slip down into her robes.

"Take your hands out of your robe, Hermione," Tonks said slowly, carefully. They were trying not to frighten her, Hermione knew, but she also knew they'd already branded her an enemy.

She had no friends anymore, she realized. She had nowhere safe to go. She reached into her drawstring bag and silently thought, 'Accio Oraverit!' She felt the brass pocket-watch shoot into her palm. She hesitated for a moment, knowing what a foolish thing it was she was about to do.

He could be anywhere. He could be sitting at a table beside Lord Voldemort himself, and indeed, he probably was. At least Remus Lupin didn't have plans to administer her the Cruciatus Curse and then murder her, the rational part of Hermione's brain screamed. But the irrational part of her mind (which rarely won arguments) whispered something else.

I don't care where he is. He isn't here. The ones who are here hate me; they hate him. Please, Severus… please be somewhere safe. Please be somewhere safe.

"I'm very sorry, Harry, Ron, Ginny… Luna," Hermione murmured, turning her chestnut eyes slowly to each of them. "I promise you, I'm on your side."

Sensing that she was about to do something dangerous, Lupin and Tonks heaved forward. A white jet flew from Tonks' wand in Hermione's direction, but before the spell could hit her, she squeezed her palm around the pocket-watch and whispered, "Oraverit!"

Then she was spinning, squeezing and whirling and flying, and in an instant she felt hard ground beneath her as she landed roughly upon a rain-soaked street.

She raised her eyes and then collapsed again into grateful, relieved tears as she realized she was on Spinner's End, directly in front of Severus' house.

"Severus…"

He groaned, trying to sit up straighter in his armchair. His head lolled back, heavy and warm and swimming, and his eyes stayed resolutely shut. He muttered something akin to, 'Go away; I'm tired and very drunk,' and let his breathing become deep and slow again.

"Severus, drink this, please."

There was the touch of cool glass against his lips and then the odd taste of licorice and chalk and honey. Severus struggled to swallow it down, whatever the hell it was, and decided to go back to sleep.

"Open your eyes, Severus."

He groaned again, feeling rather cross now with whomever was bossing him about so sternly. A few minutes later, the dull throbbing in his skull started to subside, and the crippling dizziness started to dissipate. He cracked his eyelids open and saw a fire snapping and sparkling in the hearth. Then he blinked slowly and turned his obsidian glare to the source of the voice and saw her, sitting upon his footstool and holding a small blue phial of Nec Mora Arida potion in her hand. Severus recognized his own handwriting upon the label and realized she must have Summoned it from his own private stores in the house.

"Hermione…" Severus mumbled, willing himself to sit upright and look at her. When he did, the empty bottle of Blishen's Firewhisky that had been balancing on the chair arm went crashing to the floor and shattered. He stared down at the shards, thinking he'd drunk far more than intended. Then he realized that Hermione was here, in his sitting room on Spinner's End, and not at Hogwarts where she ought to be. He narrowed his eyes at her. "What are you doing here?"

She scowled and yanked her wand from the inside of her school robe, which she was still wearing for some reason. She pointed it at the ground, at the pile of glass shards, and muttered, "Reparo."

The broken bottle reassembled itself, and then Hermione pointed her wand at it again and Transfigured it into a water glass. She cast a nonverbal aguamenti and filled it, shoving the water at Severus. He took it and sipped silently, feeling rather impressed with Hermione's rapid-fire use of advanced magic.

Hermione sighed in front of him and scratched at her scalp anxiously, sending her curly hair into a frizzy tangle. She did not ask him why he'd gotten so drunk, and Severus was thankful for that. Surely she was bright enough to realize that after killing the Headmaster, Severus had needed to slip into unconsciousness alone in his armchair.

"I am rather glad that when I used my Oraverit," she began, "I did not find myself in a room of Death Eaters celebrating the death of Albus Dumbledore."

"Yes, well, you very well may have," Severus scolded her, still quite intoxicated. His voice was more harsh, more cruel, than he had meant it to be. She stared up at him, and when she did he saw that her amber eyes were swollen and red-rimmed. She'd been crying, for a very long time. So Severus cleared his throat and waded through his dizzy thoughts and murmured, "Why did you come?"

"Because…" Hermione's voice shook, and her fingers did, too, as she touched them to her lips and frowned, "Ginny Weasley told a room full of people that I was in love with you. That was approximately thirty seconds after Harry Potter declared you a murderer. You can see what sort of spot that put me in."

"I'm sorry," Severus said, and he meant it. He lowered his eyes and felt sick - not from the whisky, but from all sorts of guilt. "Still, Hermione, at least you were safe there."

"Remus Lupin and Tonks were going to take me away for 'questioning,'" Hermione spat. A look of abject disgust crossed her face and her puffy eyes drifted to the crackling fire as she said, "and my two 'best friends' almost instantaneously declared me their enemy. I had no choice. I had to leave."

Severus tried hard not to slur his words as he insisted, "But if you'd Apparated to me and I'd been somewhere dangerous…"

"Well, it's a good thing you were here, then, isn't it?" Hermione's bottom lip quivered as she stared into the fire, and there was a very long moment of silence as she began to silently cry. Severus felt confusion start to work its way through his mind as he slowly sobered up.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I murdered one of the greatest wizards who ever lived?"

"Spare me the self-loathing, will you?" Hermione chewed her lip and still did not look at him. "I'm assuming Dumbledore asked you to do it so Draco didn't have to. Harry said Draco was about to murder Dumbledore, and then you did it instead. You have been warning me for months that this was going to happen, but couldn't give me specifics. So there must have been an Unbreakable Vow with Dumbledore."

Severus cocked an eyebrow, more impressed with her than ever. He gulped heavily. "You're very nearly correct," he admitted. "Draco was asked by the Dark Lord to murder Dumbledore. I made an Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy to help him succeed in the task, in order to protect him. I did that to avoid suspicion of being Dumbledore's stooge. Then Dumbledore told me I had to do it instead of Draco."

"Why?" Hermione clicked fiercely, turning her face to him at last. Her brown eyes glittered with tears. "Why you?"

Severus shut his eyes and sighed shakily. He was nearly sober again, and he did not care for the clarity of mind during this conversation. "To protect Draco's soul."

He half expected her to demand, 'What about your soul?' or to make some other indignant protest, but she did not. She sniffed quietly and swiped the back of her hand over her eyes.

"What now?" she asked. "I can't go back to Hogwarts. Harry and Ron will doubtlessly devote themselves now to hunting down the rest of the -"

She stopped then, and Severus frowned deeply at her. Her cheeks colored, and then she steeled her expression and squared her jaw and said very deliberately,

"They shall wish they had me with them, is all. I could help. I could help end all of this, but they hate me now. I saw it in their eyes."

Severus blinked rapidly a few times and tried to be calm as he took a deep draught of the water she'd Conjured. "I'm sorry for that, too," he nodded slowly. Then, he sighed, "To answer your other question - 'What now?' Well, that's rather complicated. In a matter of weeks, the Ministry of Magic will be overthrown. I am made to understand that Yaxley has Imperiused Pius Thicknesse so that he can be installed as a puppet Minister. Dolores Umbridge is primed to immediately initiate action against Muggle-borns. It will get dangerous very quickly for those who can not prove Magical ancestry."

He watched as Hermione's lips parted in dull horror, and he reached out to cup her jaw in his hand. Her skin was soft, he noticed… warm and velvety beneath his calloused fingertips. His throat felt dry all of a sudden, so he sipped more water.

"I will keep you safe," he promised, though it was a ridiculous thing to say and they both knew that full well. There was no way Severus - or indeed anyone - could promise Hermione her safety. Severus sighed through his nostrils and corrected himself, "I will try to protect you, as best as I may. You have proven yourself quite capable of self-protection over the past few hours, from what I understand."

Hermione looked a little confused, furrowing her dark eyebrows and raising her amber eyes to him questioningly. Severus sniffed a bit and set his water glass down upon the side table. He felt completely sober now, and the heavy weights guilt and shame were settling upon him again.

"Bellatrix Lestrange came to see me," Severus informed Hermione, noting the way her eyes flashed at the mention of the woman Death Eater. He continued, "She told me you Stunned her and snapped her wand."

"I did," Hermione admitted rather sheepishly. Then, pouting rather defiantly, she mumbled, "She tried to cast the Cruciatus Curse upon me. She called me your Mudblood slut."

"Please do not use that word around me." Severus looked away from her. There were far too many terrible memories and fears attached to the word 'Mudblood,'and hearing it come from Hermione's lips was almost intolerable. Severus wished very much that he was still drunk as the reality of the night's events settled into his veins in place of the liquor. "And, anyway," he murmured, staring at his bookshelf, "it doesn't matter what Bellatrix Lestrange thinks of you. You proved yourself quite able to handle her, but we shall simply have to prevent a future meeting. She is quite set on revenge."

They both looked into the fire for a long time in silence, for so long that the charred logs in the hearth turned to ash and the flames fizzled into smoldering coals. At some point, Hermione stood up and flicked on Severus' wizarding radio, and the sound of plucked Spanish guitar filled the dark little room. Severus kept staring ahead, feeling a heavy, depressed feeling settling over him. At last he murmured to Hermione,

"I was drunk for a reason, you know."

"I know you were." She sat back down on the footstool and put her elbow on her knee, balling her hand into a fist and resting her chin upon it thoughtfully. She sighed mildly. "I should have let you sleep. I'm sorry. This can't be easy for you."

He looked at her, finally, quirking an eyebrow with bitter sarcasm. "It is hardly as though he was surprised to die," he pronounced carefully. Hermione did not react. Severus shut his eyes and swallowed. "I could not even do it properly. I Disarmed him silently and said the Killing Curse aloud. I didn't mean it enough for it to work. You have to mean it. I sent him flying off the tower with a simple silent hex. He died when he hit the ground."

He swallowed the bile in his throat that rose at the thought of that, at the thought of Albus Dumbledore sailing through the air until he landed with a sickening crunch upon the earth.

"I killed him just the same." Severus pursed his lips and shrugged at Hermione, shaking his head a bit. "Why do you not hate me?"

Her eyes warmed a little then, not with pity, but with something else Severus couldn't quite recognize. "Albus Dumbledore was a self-sacrificing man," Hermione conceded, "but he was also very willing to sacrifice you to get what he wanted. And you let him do it; you let him convince you to kill him in order to protect Draco. You're dreadfully selfless, Severus. I don't think you actually know that."

Severus felt very weary all of a sudden, as if he would fall deeply asleep if he just shut his eyes. He did it anyway, fighting to stay present in the room through the fog of exhaustion.

"I love you," he heard her whisper, "and I could never hate you for doing what was asked… demanded... of you. I am full of grief, for him and for you. For all of us."

"Accio Dreamless Sleep." Severus kept his eyes shut and held out his hand, yanking magic forth from his stomach. A moment later, his hand closed around a little glass vial, and he cracked his eyes to look at Hermione.

"Let's go to bed," he suggested, "and in the morning we can discuss what comes next. I find myself utterly spent."

Hermione hesitated as she rose from the footstool. She chewed her lip and wrung her hands. "Do you really think it's a good idea for you to be knocked out cold by a potion with me here?" she asked softly. "What if something happens? What if someone comes?"

Severus glanced from Hermione to the vial of Dreamless Sleep and back to her again. "It isn't for me," he said, shaking his head. "It's for you."

He rose creakily, his head rushing with dizziness as he stood. He led the way up the narrow staircase and turned into the bedroom door on the left that led to his sleeping space. It was a tiny room, dark and dingy, and he found himself suddenly embarrassed of it. The bed was too small, he thought abruptly. She would be uncomfortable.

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the bed, thinking, Engorgio, and watching as the bed swelled a foot in each direction. Hermione stood behind him in the threshold, peering around him into the room. Severus was suddenly quite self-conscious about the ratty old quilt on the bed, the ragged curtains, the shabby wallpaper and the beaten-up furniture.

She'd been raised in a middle-class home, he knew, and this was the dwelling of a peasant. Having spent plenty of time in the company of judgmental wizarding aristocracy, Severus was unfortunately very accustomed to being looked down upon for his poverty. A teaching salary had never been enough to renovate this home properly (not that he'd have bothered to do so). But in this moment, it was a bit of a humiliation to present this derelict little room to Hermione as the place she'd spend the night.

But she didn't seem to mind one bit, brushing past Severus over the threshold into the room and pulling a small, purple, beaded bag from her hip. She placed it upon the quilt and began taking off her robes. Severus felt his cheeks color, knowing that tonight was the last night he should be coveting her physically. As she placed her school robe upon the bed and made a move for her jumper hem, he backed through the doorway and said,

"I shall give you a moment."

"Stay, will you?" Her voice was oddly confident, and Severus froze where he stood. Then he watched in utter fascination as Hermione uncinched her little purple bag and stuffed her entire black robe into it.

She'd used an Undetectable Extension Charm upon it. Severus felt his lips part; he was impressed by her skill and wit yet again.

"Clever girl," he mumbled at her, and she quirked a crooked smirk at him as she peeled off her grey jumped and crumpled it into the bag with her robe. Then she yanked at her Gryffindor tie and pulled it off, holding it in her hands for a long moment and staring at it.

"I shall probably never wear this again," she noted. There was a notable lack of sadness or regret in her voice with that sentence. Instead, she simply seemed to be studying the crimson-and-gold tie, turning it round in her fingers and committing it to her memory. Then she pushed it into her bag with the other items. She kicked off her shoes and unzipped her pleated skirt at her waist, shoving it down and wriggling out of it. She unbuttoned her white shirt, moving quickly and methodically, and it was only when she flicked her honey-colored eyes up to him that Severus realized he was watching her hungrily.

"I'm not sorry," she said, and Severus crumpled his eyebrows in confusion. Hermione sighed and clarified, "Tonight they all acted as though I should be very, very sorry for being in love with you. Well, I'm not. I'm not sorry. I'm very grateful."

She turned away a few degrees and peeled off her shirt, revealing the milky skin of her shoulders, arms, and back. Severus suppressed a little strained noise that formed in his chest, clearing his throat lightly and mumbling something about how he needed to get himself ready in the bathroom. She just nodded and leaned down to yank off her knee socks.

"Here…" Severus pulled the small bottle of Dreamless Sleep from his robe and passed it over to her. "Go to sleep. You need to rest after a night like tonight."

He backed away, pulling the door shut after him.

He would not sleep tonight. He knew that. How could he, when the terrible image of the dying Dumbledore was so firmly seared into his brain? How could he, when the paralyzing fear of tomorrow loomed so large? Nonetheless, he made his way to the tiny bathroom and cleaned his teeth and scoured his face with a washcloth, staring at his reflection in the tarnished little mirror.

What did she see in him? Did he care? Did it matter? She was here. She was as safe as she was going to be from here on out; he had her under his wing now. That was what mattered.

Severus stared into the clouded glass, studying his reflection. He saw a murderer, a manipulated pawn, a victim of greater men's games.

Albus… I shall hate you forever for this, he thought, growling aloud and impulsively cocking his fist up and punching at the mirror.

It shattered, unsurprisingly. The old glass crashed into large, sharp shards and fell into the sink and onto the floor. Rivulets of blood soon followed as Severus' knuckles broke open. He snarled and snatched his wand with his left hand, pointing it at the mess and muttering a repairing spell. Then he leaned out into the small corridor and aimed the wand down the staircase, whispering,

"Accio Murtlap Essence."

A rather large and heavy bottle of purple liquid came careening up the stairs from Severus' private potions collection below, and he struggled to catch it. He went back into the bathroom and poured the Murtlap onto some cotton wool, drawing the potion across his bloodied, torn hand and watching as his wounds began to knit themselves shut.

After a while, he washed his hands in the sink to rid himself of the blood and made his way back to his bedroom. The door was ajar, and when he peered inside, he could see that Hermione was lying on her back in the shabby bed, unmoving, with her hair strewn about her face like a halo. So, she'd already taken the Dreamless Sleep. Good, Severus thought. Sleep, Hermione. Rest. And do not let your innocent mind be troubled with nightmares of me, or of Dumbledore, or of the Dark Lord. Just sleep.

He stripped off his clothes until he was clad in nothing but his black boxer-briefs, and then he made his way to his wardrobe to retrieve a pair of dark grey flannel pants. He climbed silently into bed beside Hermione and lay upon his own back, staring at the ceiling.

* * *

When Hermione woke, she felt extremely confused. It took her a very long moment to calibrate where she was, what had happened, and when she did, she suddenly burst into frantic tears. She lay upon her back and shook with sobs, wrenching her eyes shut again and willing away the truth.

"Hermione," she heard Severus say from beside her, and then she felt his slender fingers prying her fists away from her eye sockets. He held her hand in his and spoke to her in a tone she'd never heard from him. It was almost gentle, almost kind, the way he said, "Come here… I love you. Hush now; I love you, Hermione."

He pulled her shaking, tearful form against his chest and petted her hair with his hand. His quiet voice hummed in her ear, murmuring reassurances. Hermione didn't pay attention to his specific words, but that wasn't what mattered. The low drone of his voice was oddly comforting as she burrowed her face into him and cried ceaselessly.

He let her soak his bare chest with her tears, let her quiver and wail childishly. All he did was keep saying that he loved her and and that nothing could be done for it now.

After a long while, Hermione ran out of tears. She shook with aftershocks of her sobs and sniffled pitifully as she raised her swollen eyes to look at Severus in the gray light of dawn. He surprised her by catching her lips in a kiss, gentle and slow and deep, and she whimpered helplessly into his mouth.

"My parents…" she whispered frantically when he pulled away, but Severus just shook his head and touched her jaw and said calmly,

" I shall put measures in place to protect them."

Hermione swallowed heavily, feeling sick again as she squeezed her eyes shut against a fresh swell of tears. "Everything's changed," she muttered, her voice sounding hollow to her own ears. "I have no idea what to do."

Severus kissed her again, slipping his hand around her neck to nest in her curls and twining his fingers into her tangles. "Neither do I," he admitted at last, "but I shall help you, and you shall help me. I won't tell you that everything will be fine. I have no clue if it will be. But you shall have me, and I shall have you, and that is all there is now." Hermione nodded at him as he pulled back and stared at her with his inky black eyes. "Dumbledore would not want to see you dissolved into frightened tears, Hermione Jean Granger. He knew you to be a powerful witch, a clever witch, and he would want very much to know that you'd steeled yourself for the fight. You understand?"

She nodded resolutely, reaching up for his chiseled face and holding fast as she crushed her mouth against his. He started to press his lips to hers, but Hermione desperately pushed her tongue against his mouth. Severus grunted in surprise, but parted his lips to yield to her. Hermione swirled the tip of her tongue around the roof of his mouth, then sucked and nibbled upon his bottom lip so firmly that she worried she'd leave a mark.

She needed him, all of a sudden, needed to know that she truly had him. He could say it until he was blue in the face, and she could nod her assent, but she needed to feel his bare flesh against hers and know they were truly together - in every sense.

So Hermione snaked her hand down under the covers and reached between them, letting her fingers brush over the front of his flannel trousers and ghosting along the outline of his half-hard cock. Severus jolted a bit at her touch, grunting again against her kiss and going hard where she fondled him.

Hermione suddenly felt his own hand reach beneath the sheet and work its way up the hem of her nightshirt. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and yanked them downward, urging Hermione out of them. She moaned insistently, pulling away from his mouth so that she could wriggle her way free of the underwear and kick them away. She sat up and whipped off her pink jersey nightshirt, tossing it away into a crumpled heap on the floor. She hovered over Severus' prone form, completely nude, and stared down into his black eyes.

"I love you," he said again, as reassuringly as ever, though this time there was also a firm sense of conviction in his voice. She nodded and reached for his rough fingers, guiding them up to her chest and hissing through her teeth when he cupped her small, round breast in his palm.

His thumb grazed her nipple and she moaned wantonly, feeling her back arch with want as she went warm and wet between her legs. She reached for the waistband of Severus' flannel pants and tugged at them, and he helped her shuck the pajamas until he lay on his back with his cock sticking up like the proud mast of a ship. Hermione gulped heavily as she stared at his member, then reached out tentatively and curled her fingers around his length.

She thought back to the first time he'd made love to her, when he'd been careful and kind but she'd still been terrified. There was no fear inside of her now - not of him, anyway. Indeed, he was the only comfort she knew now.

She began to glide her soft fingers up his shaft until they reached his engorged tip, where she passed the pad of her thumb and spread the little dewy drop of fluid that had emerged. Severus bucked his hips up into her hand, roughly thrusting up into her palm, and a low-voiced huff ripped from his chest.

Hermione went wide-eyed as she looked at his naked form. His slender fingers were clutching anxiously at the off-white bedsheets, and his lean chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths as he struggled against the feel of her hand.

Hermione suddenly felt much better than she had before, knowing that she was giving him pleasure like this. Last night had been so miserable, in so many ways, and the future looked just as bleak. But right here, right now, he was writhing on the bed beside her, overwhelmed with desire as she stroked his cock.

It was terribly arousing to feel that surge of happiness and power among all of the recent awfulness. Hermione felt a searing surge of moisture between her thighs as she touched Severus, as she watched him wrench his eyes shut and hiss through clenched teeth.

Then she stared down at his member and remembered reading Witches Behaving Badly, the rather naughty book that had given her the Interminagaudens hex she'd used against him.

What on Earth Madam Pince was doing with a book like that in a school library, even in the Restricted Section, Hermione had no idea. It was essentially an antique tome of pornographic spells and tips. She remembered that several pages had made reference to fellatio, to taking a man into one's mouth and pleasuring him like that. Hermione had recoiled at the time, thinking that was something she would never do.

But now as she knelt above Severus and looked down at his gently throbbing cock, she wondered what he tasted like, and could not help but lick her lips. Impulsively, she leaned down and parted her mouth, slipping him inside and tentatively wrapping her lips around his shaft. She quickly registered the taste and smell of him - salty and musky and very, very warm - and then couldn't stop from moaning onto his flesh.

Suddenly there were hands clutching her head, fingers gripping frantically at her scalp through her tangled curls and trying to pull her up.

"Hermione…" he was moaning, his voice a honeyed growl, "you don't have to - oh, but, ungh…"

She wouldn't let him pull her off, determinedly swirling her tongue around him inside her mouth and pulling her lips up toward his tip. That elicited a delirious groan from him, as well as an upward buck of his hips that nearly gagged her. She yelped as he inadvertently shoved his cock to the back of her throat, and he hurriedly apologized in a breathy whisper.

Hermione smiled wickedly onto him, delighted by the effect she was having on him. All her grief and anxiety were forgotten, if just for these few precious moments. She used her left hand to gently massage his thigh as her right followed her mouth on his member. She moved on him in swirling strokes, her moans vibrating onto his skin. He tried once or twice to pull her from him, and she ignored him resolutely until he practically shoved her shoulders to get her off.

"If - you don't - stop right now," he choked, his eyes burning as he stared at her, "I shall finish in your mouth, and you shall not enjoy it. I'm sorry."

Hermione smirked and dragged the back of her hand over her swollen, wet lips, watching as Severus shuddered with arousal beneath her.

"Get on top of me," he said suddenly, and Hermione felt a skewer of intense desire rush through her core at the thought of that. She smiled rather nervously as she cast her left leg over his hips and straddled him, hovering above him, and guided him toward her entrance.

He put his left hand on her waist to stop her and squeezed, holding fast. Hermione gasped at his firm touch and felt her entire body prickle in the cool night air. She watched as his right hand, fiercely shaking, reached out to the bedside table and snatched his black wand. He pointed it at her lower abdomen and mumbled tremulously,

"Breviter sterilatatem," and then he set his wand back down and reached to put his right hand on her waist, as well. Hermione glanced down to aim his tip against her entrance and cried out in a mix of agony and pleasure when she felt her waist being pulled down by Severus' strong hands.

He impaled her, slowly stretching her still-inexperienced body as she sank onto him. He hissed and groaned and thrashed a bit beneath her, and Hermione's hands reached to caress her own breasts and then made their way down her torso to cover his on her waist.

She arched her back once she'd taken in his full length, lingering still for a moment against him as she registered the fullness and pressure. She was throbbing, aching for him, and on instinct she began to rock her hips against him. He moaned in approval and sighed blissfully, meeting Hermione's eyes with an icy, intense stare as he used his hands to guide her into a steady rhythm.

Then one of his hands left her waist and inched between them, and as Hermione ground up and down on him she felt his fingers pulsing against her clitoris. She cried out in pleasure, throwing her head back and wrenching her eyes shut and suddenly finding herself unable to move. He used his left hand to encourage her back into her steady, bobbing swells and continued toying with her where their bodies met.

"Come for me, Hermione," she heard him grunt, his voice sounding less silky and more primal than she was used to hearing it. He sounded rather out of control of himself, rather overwhelmed, and his breath was coming hard and fast through his nostrils as he growled again, "Come for me."

"Severus…" Hermione whispered his name like a prayer into the grey morning, her jaw falling open and her eyes going wide as her pleasure erupted. She felt her walls clenching erratically on him, felt wonderful sparks and jolts shooting through her veins as her ears rang and she saw spots. Then suddenly his hands were both back on her waist, pumping her desperately up and down on him a few times before he ground his teeth together roughly and snarled out her name a few times.

He went still beneath her, rigid and tense as he arched his back and held his breath. Hermione watched, fascinated, as his normally-pale cheeks flushed red and his face went damp from exertion. She felt warm, sticky liquid leaking from her body all of a sudden, and she grinned triumphantly as she watched Severus go quiet and still.

She stayed atop him for a long moment as they caught their breath, and then finally she pulled herself from his softening member and collapsed beside him. Severus cast his forearm over his sweaty face and shut his eyes peacefully, murmuring,

"Do you know, I feel as though I might actually be able to sleep now."

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. Hermione quirked a sad little smile. "You should sleep," she whispered. "I'm sure you're very tired."

Severus smirked. "Mmm. I needed that… you have no idea how badly I needed that."

"Yes, I do," she insisted.

But the blissful moment was shattered when Severus suddenly cringed and grasped roughly at his left forearm, where the ugly Dark Mark stood out against his white skin like a cattle brand. Hermione frowned deeply.

"I suppose he would want to see you today…" she whispered, and all of the fear and anxiety they'd shoved aside came crashing back.

Severus flew from the bed, his relaxed mood completely dissolved. He snatched at the clothes he'd peeled off the night before and hastily began dressing. As he spoke to Hermione, his words were low, quick, and deliberate.

"I will ward the house completely when I leave," he said. "Do not answer the door, no matter what, obviously. Stay up here, in fact. If I am not back in twenty-four hours, then leave and do not return. I will find you if everything is safe. Do not go to your parents' house."

Hermione felt cold terror start working its way through her veins as she realized the reality of the new world - the world the morning after Dumbledore died.

As Severus finished buttoning his frock coat, he made his way out the bedroom door and said, "Get dressed and keep your wand in your hand."

* * *

Severus walked into the dining room of Malfoy Manor with a feigned calm in his face and body. He moved smoothly, quickly, and bore no expression in his steely eyes.

Nonetheless, he felt an odd sense of dread as he realized there were only two people in the room - Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange.

Voldemort was seated in a chair at the head of the long, empty table. Bellatrix was in a chair further down, her hands gripping the table like claws as she seethed visibly with rage at the sight of Severus.

"Severus Snape…" Voldemort said smoothly. "I am made to understand that you performed Draco's task for him."

Severus hesitated beside the dining-room table, pulling out a heavy chair when Voldemort gestured for him to do so. He sat and shot a brief glare at the wild-eyed Bellatrix before turning his face calmly back to Voldemort.

"My Lord," he said carefully, "Draco was unable to kill Dumbledore. He did corner and disarm him, however. I proceeded to the Astronomy Tower in case additional help was required; when I realized Draco was unable to perform the killing, I interceded and did so myself."

He made no effort at apology or further explanation and simply sat quietly, waiting for Voldemort to speak. At long last, the Dark Lord did.

"I am very grateful for your overt act of loyalty, Severus. It would seem to me that anyone doubting your fidelity at this point - after killing Albus Dumbledore - would be behaving very foolishly. Do you agree?"

Severus swallowed a bit and chewed the inside of his cheek, ignoring the way Bellatrix was staring black daggers into him. He finally said,

"My Lord, I can only hope that what happened last night demonstrated my trustworthiness to your satisfaction."

"It did," Voldemort confirmed pointedly, more to Bellatrix than to Severus. After an uncomfortable silence, Voldemort said, "What would you have me do, exactly, Bella? I feel rather like a mediating mother to the two of you."

"My Lord, I bear no hostility against Madam Lestrange," Severus began, but Bellatrix interrupted him.

"Your little whore took my wand, broke it, kicked away from me, and left me unconscious upon the floor!" she shrieked suddenly. Severus snapped his eyes to her, surprised by her outburst. Bellatrix carried on, "She Stunned with no wand of her own. How do you explain that, Snape? As you said, she is the best friend of Harry Potter, isn't she? Little dear knows just so much valuable information, but she's also a rather convenient vessel for information to make its way to Potter, wouldn't you say?"

"Be silent, Bellatrix." Voldemort's voice clipped harshly in the dining room and shut Bellatrix up at once. Severus furrowed his eyebrows and opened his own mouth to speak, but before he could he was hit with a wave of dizziness as Voldemort burst into his head.

There were memories flying by, one by one, like a Muggle film on fast-forward. He was searching… searching for her. Severus panicked and threw up every Occlumency defense he could, drawing up endless black seas and enormous mountains and doorways that led nowhere. He shut his mind and started shoving forth memories of his own choosing about Hermione.

He tore a chair from the desk nearest him and threw his body down to sit in it, grabbing Hermione's wrists roughly and yanking her down to straddle his hips.

"Look at me," he huffed angrily, watching as she wrenched her amber eyes open. "Say it again."

Hermione licked her lips and whimpered meekly, "Severus…"

Severus swallowed heavily and shoved that memory aside, pulling forth something else and trying to keep memories of his feelings at bay. He tried to just play the recollection like a scene, without any tinge of emotion at all. He could not show how this next one had filled him with a surging admiration, an odd and uncharacteristic tenderness.

"Go ahead," Hermione murmured.

Severus pulled Hermione's knees up around his waist and pushed into her virgin entrance tentatively. She was wet, and warm, but she tensed against the way he filled her body.

"Look at me, Hermione."

He pulled back, and she obeyed, opening her chestnut eyes and staring up at him.

He held her waist and stroked her hair and drove more deeply into her. She gasped and started to shut her eyes, but Severus gently ordered,

"Don't stop looking at me."

Pain seared through her gaze as he pumped into her, and when he felt her barrier give way, she gasped a bit. Severus leaned down and kissed her gently, sweeping his tongue over her lips.

"Look at me…" he whispered, and she did, watching his inky eyes as he thrust smoothly into her. She was holding her breath, so he murmured, "Breathe… breathe. Good girl."

Voldemort pulled out of Severus' mind and let out a low chuckle. Severus was catapulted from the Dark Lord's Legilimency and felt abruptly nauseated, sickened by having to show that particular memory.

That memory was his… theirs… not Voldemort's.

"She is very pretty," Voldemort acknowledged with a sneer, and Bellatrix huffed angrily in protest, crossing her arms petulantly over her chest. The Dark Lord flicked his eyes to her and snapped, "Jealousy is most unattractive on you, Bella."

She dropped her arms and parted her lips in injured surprise, and Severus felt a tiny measure of relief at her humiliation. But then Voldemort turned back to Severus and demanded harshly,

"Where is she, Severus?"

Severus knew that that was what Voldemort had truly been looking for, and it was what he'd been fighting hardest to conceal. It was critical that no one know he was hiding her. Severus flicked up his eyebrows and shrugged loosely, saying,

"I would assume she is still at Hogwarts, My Lord."

"Millicent Bulstrode reports that she is not," Voldemort clipped. "An owl came very early this morning from the girl, stating that rumors were spreading that Hermione Granger had disappeared. Killed, the rumors say, by Fenrir Greyback."

"Perhaps it is so," Severus suggested mildly, but Voldemort shook his head and narrowed his reptilian eyes.

"Greyback did not touch the girl," he says. "He was too busy feasting on the blood traitor Bill Weasley. So, if Hermione Granger is not dead, and she is not at Hogwarts, then where is she, Severus?"

"I have no idea, My Lord."

There was another sudden intrusion into his mind, and this time Voldemort was searching very deliberately for any hint or sign of where Hermione was. But Severus was ready now, and was fully guarded. He pushed forth flickering, brief memories of her: the spring party in Slughorn's office, the time he'd taken points from Gryffindor for her tardiness. The sight of her Apparating out of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, and the time he'd dragged her into a deserted classroom and thrashed her from behind. Then, for good measure, he pulled forth a brief, powerful memory of her saying,

"I'm not **yours** to keep safe!"

Severus mentally pushed and shoved until Voldemort withdrew, and then the Dark Lord sneered, "Trouble in paradise, Severus?"

Severus cocked his head thoughtfully. "She fancies the Weasley boy," he lied. "Ronald. Recently I found it more difficult to manipulate her into relations as she developed a more… adolescent… attraction."

Perhaps he didn't fully consider the ramifications of what he was saying, and perhaps he did. But it was with a silent sigh of relief that he registered what Voldemort said next. He turned to Bellatrix, who looked wild as ever, and said smoothly,

"Bella… you must learn to control your paranoia and envy. I am a busy man. I have things to do. None of this matters to me when I have so many other concerns. You understand?"

Bellatrix chewed her lip, and her eyes gleamed with rage, but she sighed shakily and nodded contritely. "Yes. Of course, My Lord. I'm sorry."

"Come here, my dear." Voldemort beckoned to Bellatrix with a long, bony finger. Bellatrix shoved her chair back and quickly rose, bounding a bit too eagerly to the Dark Lord's side.

Severus watched as Voldemort held out a wand to her. It was an odd-looking thing, long and thin and pale with a delicate handle that consisted of a thick white-and-brown spiral. It was far too pretty an instrument for a creature like Bellatrix, Severus thought, but she took it reverently and bowed gratefully.

"That wand belonged to a Mudblood prisoner… that old man you had such fun with," Voldemort informed her, sounding rather bored. "Show me that you have earned this gift, Bella."

"Yes, My Lord. Thank you," Bellatrix breathed contentedly, and she backed slowly away from Voldemort's chair and glared smugly at Severus. Voldemort flicked his eyes between the two of them.

"I dislike hostility among my children," he murmured. "Severus, go home. You've earned some rest."

Severus nodded his thanks and rose slowly from the table. As he made his way from the dining room, he heard Voldemort hiss his name again, and he turned round cautiously.

Voldemort smirked and tapped his fingertips upon the table. "In the fall, I shall want you back at Hogwarts. I hear they are in need of a new Headmaster."

* * *

Severus Apparated back to Spinner's End and glanced around the the empty street, veiled grey by the cloudy morning. The only sounds were the distant rumbling of a car engine and the yipping of a dog inside a house. The place looked deserted.

He was halfway down the street to his own house when he realized he had essentially no food there for Hermione, nor any basic provisions for her. He supposed she might have some things in that expanded purse she'd brought, but he didn't want to count on that. With a gruff sigh, Severus pulled aside into a narrow alley between houses and plucked his wand out from his frock coat.

Pointing the tip of the wand at himself, he Transfigured his clothes, one article at a time, so that he could blend more seamlessly into the Muggle world. His normal attire would seem costumey, even in the drab town of Cokeworth. He left his narrow black trousers and shoes alone, as well as his white shirt, but changed his severe frock coat into a more conventional Muggle suit jacket, tightly tailored of black wool. Thankfully, he'd left his traveling cloak at home. He leaned down to the ground and scooped up a handful of pebbles, pointing his wand at them and murmuring a few incantations until they became (or at least seemed to be) Muggle money. Knowing full well that in a few hours, the notes and coins would dissolve back into rocks, Severus shoved the money into his pocket and tucked his wand away again.

He set back off down the street and turned a corner, hustling down a narrow sidewalk and dodging a sickly-looking ginger cat. Finally, he came to a little row of shops beyond the houses. Severus well remembered these shops from his youth, and as far as he knew, the same greengrocer owned the place now as had done so twenty-five years earlier.

Severus stepped confidently through over the threshold of the cramped, dark little market, snatching up a worn plastic basket and beginning to weave his way through the aisles. He may have been a skilled Potioneer, but those mixing and measuring skills did not transfer into cookery of food. He began throwing grocery items into the basket somewhat at random, thinking that at the very least they could alter the food - Gamp's law stated that food could be neither created nor destroyed, though it could be changed, through magic.

So he snatched some tins from the shelf and tossed them into the basket, hardly reading the labels. Heinz beans, Foresight pease pudding, Ramsden's mushy peas… none of it was even vaguely appetizing, but Severus didn't especially care. It was only when he realized he'd thrown in a tin of Aptamil infant milk that he thought perhaps he ought to pay a bit more attention.

Severus sighed and thrust the Aptamil back onto the shelf, stalking carefully through the aisles and beginning to choose foods the way he would choose Potions ingredients - compatibility, purpose, and quality.

Breakfast, he thought first, and he snatched a large box of Weetabix and grabbed a pint of whole milk from the creamery cooler. Tea. In went some PG Tips granules, a little tin of sugar, and a sleeve of digestives. Sandwiches. Bread, cheddar, lettuce, and some cold meats. Crisps and a few biscuits and a box of spaghetti and a jar of tomato sauce. Some tins of soup, and, impulsively, a sack of Jacob's Twiglets. That would do fine for the next few days, he thought, frowning down into the basket. He stalked with embarrassment to the toiletry section and grabbed a few items as quickly as possible - women's shampoo and conditioner, a package of soap that was pink (and therefore probably smelled fine for a female), a toothbrush and a tube of paste.

He scowled as he approached the till, seeing the plump, pimple-faced teenage girl working it and wishing the old proprietor were there instead. He plunked his basket down on the countertop and waited impatiently for the girl to scan up his items, watching with an eyebrow cocked in judgment as she clumsily punched in codes at the till. He saw the way her overgrown eyebrows crumpled when she realized the greasy, middle-aged man before her was buying pink soap and rose-scented shampoo. But she wisely said nothing and held out his receipt, boredly asking if he wanted to join a loyalty program.

"No," Severus snapped, snatching the receipt from the girl and taking a plastic sack of groceries in each hand as he fled the market.

He could feel the thrum of the wards around his house from twenty feet away. If he hadn't been the one to cast them, the spells would have encouraged him to stay clear of the house, to hardly even see it and to look around in a confused sort of daze. But he had been the one to ward up the place, and so it was with a bit of satisfied pride that he unlocked the door and strode inside, knowing it was secure.

"Hermione?" he called out, shutting the door behind him and kicking off his dragon-hide boots. He stalked through the tiny sitting room into the kitchen and set the groceries down on the countertop, flicking his wand and sending the goods flying into the cupboards.

"What are you wearing?"

He turned round and saw Hermione leaning against the kitchen doorjamb, her eyes narrowed curiously as she took in his tailored suit coat. Severus glanced down self-consciously and said, "I went to fetch food. From a Muggle shop. Thought I might look a bit out of place."

"Oh." Hermione nodded. She looked distracted, twirling a caramel-colored kink of hair around her finger as she stared at him. She was wearing the old burgundy sweatshirt he'd seen on her more than once and a worn pair of denims. Her wild hair hung freely about her face.

"Would you care for some cereal and tea?" Severus asked her mildly, wondering what it was that was bothering her… besides the dreadful realization that she was in the home of the man who'd killed Dumbledore.

"No, thank you." Hermione shook her head and instead held out an old-looking, folded sheet of paper to him. Severus frowned, furrowing his eyebrows as he unfolded the sheet and tried to make sense of it. There were Dutch words on it, and French, though he didn't speak enough French to recognize much beyond the word 'Beauxbatons.'

"What is this?" he asked her, flicking his inky eyes up to meet hers.

"What if I wasn't Muggle-born?" Hermione began, folding her arms over her chest and pinching her lips determinedly.

"But you are Muggle-born," Severus reminded her, his voice condescending as he stated the obvious.

"Right. But what if my mother was a Squib?"

"She's not, though." Severus frowned more deeply, wondering where Hermione was going with all of this. She stood up straighter and rolled her amber eyes in frustration as if he were being deliberately dense.

"This," she snapped, touching the paper, "is a document I spent the past hour making. It is my real grandmother's name - Famke de Waal - and she really was from Den Bosch in the Netherlands. Her true story is that, after the end of the Second Muggle World War, she moved to Britain to marry a soldier she'd met, and they had my mother."

"Fascinating," Severus pronounced in a sarcastic clip, now feeling suspicious and a bit fearful of what she'd done. Once again, Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.

"As far as I know, I've no Magical ancestors. But the paper in your hands is a graduation certificate from Beauxbatons Academy, dated June of 1943. Famke de Waal, according to the 'new history,' was a Dutch witch who went to school in France and then married a British Muggle. Their only child was a daughter - a Squib - and Famke never told her about magic, having chosen to live as a Muggle. Famke died in 1989, before realizing that her only granddaughter was a witch just like her."

Severus stared down at the paper he held, marveling at its convincing nature. He'd seen Beauxbatons certificates before, and this one looked quite genuine. It also looked old. Impressed as always with her, he raised his face and was about to speak. But then she whipped out another sheet of paper and thrust it at Severus. This paper looked even older, and he crumpled his brow again as he struggled to make sense of the antiquated script upon it. The language was unintelligible.

"A Durmstrang certificate," Hermione informed him, "for Famke's father, Geert de Waal. Dated May of 1922. As you know, wizards must be pureblood to attend Durmstrang, so these documents clearly demonstrate that I've got a strong line of Dutch witches and wizards in my family tree."

She shifted her weight and flashed him a look somewhere between triumph and fear. Severus stared down at the papers, feeling a swell of intimidation at Hermione's abilities, as well as a stab of unease. He shook his head insistently.

"To what end?" he demanded. "Albert Runcorn, once installed as an investigator of Muggle-borns, shall see straight through all of this."

"I've got an entire box of corroborating documents and photographs upstairs," Hermione said, her voice suddenly a bit manipulative-sounding as she smirked. "Birth certs, graduation papers, marriage documentation from various Ministries of Magic. I've documented my Magical ancestry back three hundred years. It would be awfully difficult to say outright that I was lying. We shall simply say that, until recently, I believed myself Muggle-born, but upon further investigation, I discovered that there is in fact a long legacy of Magic on my Squib mother's side."

Severus scowled and pointed his wand at the papers in his hands. "Finite incantatem," he murmured, trying to show her how easily her deception would be uncovered. Nothing happened, though, even as he tried spell after spell to undo her magic. Finally, he glared at her and demanded, "How did you do this?"

"I finished the last piece this morning," Hermione said lightly, cocking her head, "but this is something I've been working very hard on for months, since you first let slip that Muggle-borns were to be persecuted. Lots of books; lots of spells. Nothing I'd like available in your mind for him to see, if you please."

Severus squared his jaw, knowing she was right. There would always be secrets between them, out of necessity and to preserve their safety. He nodded and pushed the papers back to her.

"What am I to do with this, then?" he asked firmly. "The Dark Lord wants me to return to Hogwarts in the fall as Headmaster. How am I to keep to you safe?"

"Take me with you," Hermione suggested. "Let me go back to school, using these documents as evidence that I've got Magical blood. Explain to him that I'm estranged from Harry and Ron, on the basis of their hatred for you and their discovery of our… affair. There's very little untruth whatsoever in that."

She chewed her lip, looking a bit sorrowful as she said that. Severus felt his chest fluttering with anxiety as he tried to straighten his thoughts. Then he said, "I have to keep Bellatrix Lestrange away from you. She wants you dead, and there is absolutely no reason the Dark Lord has for preventing her from killing you. Even if you had a Dutch grandmother with a wand."

"Then there shall be no place more safe than at your side, eh?" Hermione quirked her lips up sadly. "Now, shall I make you a cup of tea, Headmaster?"

* * *

Crack!

Hermione Apparated from Spinner's End and twisted and whirled through the nether until she landed hard upon the street where she herself had grown up.

She glanced out from the alley where she'd landed out onto the bustling street. She was staring straight at the Muswell Hill Bookshop, the delightful little place that had opened up when Hermione had been a small girl. She could still remember the first time she'd walked into the bookshop, reveling in the smell of paper and ink, drinking in the hundreds and thousands of books before her. Her middle-class dentist parents had indulged her book-lust and they'd been weekly patrons at the Bookshop.

She gulped heavily and waited in the alley, yanking her burgundy sweatshirt more tightly around herself in the unseasonably cool air. With a small pop, Severus appeared beside her a moment later. He smirked when he saw the tony London suburb where they'd transported themselves.

"Quite a different place from Cokeworth," he noted, glancing up Fortis Green Road and then cocking an eyebrow down at Hermione. She sighed lightly and nodded, leading him from the alley and up the sidewalk. She knew she'd been born into and raised in relative privilege. The irony was that, in the Muggle world, she and her family were considered comparatively wealthy, very educated, and were part of a racial majority. Therefore, they were part of a small, entitled class of British citizens.

In the wizarding world, however, the tables were turned entirely against Hermione. Because she was Muggle-born, no amount of familial wealth or parental Muggle education could make her respectable - at least, not in the eyes of the eugenics-minded Voldemort and his minions.

"This is it," she said softly, when they were standing in front of the late Victorian red brick semi-detached where Hermione had spent her first years. She let out a quivering little breath and stared up to the white window-sills, the neatly trimmed marigolds out front, the perfectly swept concrete steps that led up to the shiny black door.

Resolutely, Hermione pushed through the small iron gate and trotted up the stairs, mashing her finger against the doorbell button. She heard it chime inside the house, and she waited, feeling her heart racing inside her chest and her breath quickening inside her nostrils.

Then, at long last, she heard footsteps padding, getting closer, and the slick black door opened slowly. Hermione's mother stood in the threshold, dressed in a crisp white button-down and dark trousers. Hermione felt a clench of dread and fear at the sight of her mother, rather than the sensation of a happy reunion.

"Hello, Mum," she said, and it came out more like a cracked whisper than a loving greeting. Her mother's kind, warm face broke out into a confused little smile.

"Hermione, dear!" she exclaimed, and then she saw Severus standing behind Hermione and narrowed her eyes a little, shifting on her feet. "Erm… I'm delighted to see you, dear, but I was made to understand the Hogwarts Express wouldn't be arriving into King's Cross for days!"

Hermione sighed heavily and flashed her mother a sad little smile. "Mum, let us in, will you? We'll explain everything."

Her mother stepped aside and watched them enter, looking a bit nervous as Severus crossed her threshold. He was wearing a Muggle-style tailored suit coat again, so as to not look overly "wizard-like," but even Hermione could not deny that his appearance was still stern and severe. He nodded politely at Hermione's mother and extended his hand for her to shake - something Hermione had never, ever seen him do.

"How do you do, Mrs. Granger?" he asked smoothly. "My name is Severus Snape. I'm a professor at Hogwarts."

"Oh!" Hermione's mother looked very relieved to hear that, and Hermione realized with a jolt of sadness that it was because she'd assumed Severus to be Hermione's boyfriend… her much older boyfriend, and that thought had obviously made her uncomfortable. Hermione knew Severus to be thirty-seven years of age; her parents were forty-two, so they were peers while she was a generation below.

Hermione cleared her throat rather uncomfortably, knowing how she would have to address Severus to keep this meeting civil, and said, "Professor Snape, the sitting room is just through here."

"Let me go get your father," Hermione's mother said hastily, and she dashed off up the staircase, toward the home office where Hermione's father often spent his free time. Hermione led the way into the cozy, elegant sitting room. It was bright and airy, with coral-colored furniture and clean white walls, and the sunlight poured in through a large window. Severus looked about himself and then adjusted his suit jacket before sitting beside Hermione upon one of the divans.

"It's a very nice house," he murmured quietly to her, putting a hand gently upon her knee when she sat beside him. She looked into his inky eyes and smiled sadly back at him.

"It's my home," she acknowledged, "and it always will be. Even after today."

He nodded, then snatched his hand from Hermione's denims at the sound of footsteps descending the staircase. He rose again when Hermione's parents entered the room. Hermione could not help herself - at the sight of her father, she went dashing across the sitting room and thrust herself into his arms.

"Hullo, Daddy," she mumbled against his jumper, feeling him pat her wild curls as he chuckled. Hermione stepped away and tried very hard not to cry as she tried to absorb the features on her parents' faces.

"Hey there, kiddo," her father said, smiling crookedly at her. "You're home early this year… something wrong?"

He flicked his eyes back to Severus, who shifted upon his feet and stuck his hand out again as he'd done with Hermione's mother.

"Dad, this is Professor Snape. From Hogwarts," Hermione said. She swallowed heavily. "Won't you two sit with us for a moment?"

The men shook hands briefly, and then they all sat facing one another, with Hermione's parents staring at the two of them, their eyes filled with alarm.

"What's going on, Hermione?" her mother asked at last. Hermione hesitated, and then heard Severus say beside her, with all the calm in the world,

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, the school year has been cut short a bit due to… hostilities between political factions in the wizarding world. I'm certain you're aware of the existence of these issues?"

"Voldemort," Hermione's father nodded gravely. Her parents knew there was a Dark Wizard who had been attacking people, but they knew very little in the way of details. Severus nodded anyway and said,

"Unfortunately, our headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, was murdered because of these hostilities."

Hermione watched her parents' faces react - her mother's thin eyebrows flew up in terror, and her father frowned deeply. Hermione noted that Severus neglected to mention he'd been the one to kill Albus Dumbledore.

"As a matter of keeping families safe, we are encouraging certain students and their parents to leave the country until these issues can be resolved," Severus said confidently. He extracted a small manila envelope from his jacket and handed it to Hermione's mother, who opened it and pulled out airplane tickets and an itinerary."

"We're going to take a holiday, Mum" Hermione said reassuringly. "You, Dad, and me. Australia! Somewhere we've never been, eh?"

Her parents studied the materials for a long while, and then her father said, "There's no plane ticket for you, Hermione."

"Oh… I've got mine already," Hermione lied. "We'll be sitting three abreast on the way there. We can talk the entire way. It'll be grand; we'll do a wonderful tour of the country. Sydney - with the Opera House, Mum; you've always wanted to go! Ayers Rock and the Great Barrier Reef, and then we'll spend a week in Melbourne before we come home. Everything's paid for. Just need to pack some bags!"

She smiled encouragingly at them, but her parents continued to frown heavily and look skeptical. Beside Hermione, Severus cleared his throat rather roughly, and she turned her wide, amber eyes to face him. She nodded minutely. It was time.

"Would you be so kind as to direct me to the washroom?" Severus asked. "I'll give you three a moment to discuss this."

"Oh… yes. It's just out in the corridor." Hermione's mother flicked her hand dismissively from the living room and started asking Hermione questions about Dumbledore. Hermione answered her, giving vague and short responses to inquiries about her general safety at Hogwarts. She watched Severus rise and step behind the divan where Hermione's parents sat, and then he started to back from the room. He paused in the doorway and silently pulled his wand from the pocket of his suit coat.

They'd made a plan and agreed upon it. Severus was going to cast the memory-replacement spell, because he was more than skilled enough to do it without potentially damaging the Grangers' minds. Their heads would be emptied of all memories of Hermione, and she would vanish from photographs in their home. Physical vestiges of her, too, would be gone. The Grangers would believe they'd never had children due to fertility problems, and that they were moving to Australia to start a new life of adventure. They would think they were sitting before a young intern at a firm finding housing for British expats in Australia, and that would be that.

Hermione felt her breath hitch in her chest as she saw Severus' wand go up slowly, and she murmured rather frantically,

"Mum? Dad?"

They both looked at her, their faces still filled with concern, since in this moment they still believed that they were fleeing to Australia to escape wizarding violence. Her father raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"I love you both… very much," Hermione said gently to them, feeling hot tears burn in her eyes. Her mother smiled weakly.

"Well, we love you, too, Hermione," she said, patting Hermione's hand reassuringly. "You don't ever have to worry about that. We'll have a grand time in Australia… we won't discuss next school year yet. Let's just go enjoy the holiday; we've missed you terribly this school year, what with you being gone for Christmas holidays, and…"

Then, all of a sudden, the light left the older woman's eyes, and her words dissolved into silence. Hermione pulled her hand from under her mother's and watched as her parents stared off into space for a long, agonizing moment. Severus stood behind them, whispering incantations as he twisted his wand slowly.

Hermione fought with all of her strength not to cry, not to show any outward sign that she knew what was happening. But she did know, and a moment later, her stomach twisted painfully when her parents flashed back to be present in the room and her mother said,

"So, Miss Dillon, you'll be in touch regarding a flat in Melbourne?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, flicking her eyes back and forth between her parents. She saw no recognition at all in their faces - just cold, emotionless expectation as they waited for her response. She nodded and said,

"Someone from our office will be in touch with you very soon. Please ensure your passports are in order. Enjoy your new life in Australia, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. It was… it was good to meet you."

"Yes; we're very excited," her father nodded coolly, with none of the paternal warmth he usually showed. Hermione, heartbroken and nauseated, nodded again, silently, and rose from the divan. She extended her hand and shook her father's, then her mother's, feeling their touch for the last time as her mother said,

"I'll show you out, Miss Dillon."

Severus was already gone, having made his way to a quiet part of the house and Disapparated back to Spinner's End. Hermione followed her mother to the front door, sparing one last brief glance about the house where she'd learnt to walk, where her mother had proudly displayed her finger-painted works of art on the refrigerator with letter magnets. Where she had sat on quiet Saturday afternoons and read books aloud with her father… home.

The door swung open and Hermione numbly stepped through it, mumbling back to her mother, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Granger."

"Goodbye! Thank you!" Her mother waved and smiled politely, shutting the door behind Hermione.

Unable to contain the boiling tears from worming their way down her cheeks, Hermione turned around and dashed down the steps, past the marigolds, and through the little iron gate. She hurried up the street and went back into the little alley across from the bookshop. She pressed her back flat upon the brick wall and sobbed alone for a terrible moment before snatching Severus' brass pocket-watch from her denims.

"Oraverit," she mumbled. With a resounding crack, she vanished from suburban London and reappeared on a lonely, dismal street in Cokeworth.


	7. Chapter 7

Severus was standing in his sitting room, peeling off his suit jacket, when the front door of his house burst open and Hermione came striding over the threshold. Severus silently held his wand up and re-warded the doorway behind her, wondering whether or not he ought to approach her and try to comfort her in some way.

She stood in the vestibule and buckled over at her waist, letting out a devastated keening noise before standing back up and flashing her chestnut eyes angrily at Severus. She brushed past him into his library and began pacing furiously, demanding, "Where is your firewhisky?"

"That's not going to -" Severus stopped when he saw her snatch an unopened bottle of Blishen's from behind a stack of books. She wrenched at its stopper, and Severus strode up to her and yanked the bottle away. He Vanished it and scolded her, "You're not going to get drunk, Hermione."

"Why not?" she asked, her voice a desperate shriek. "You got to drink yourself into a stupor the night you killed Dumbledore, but I can't have a bit of whisky after erasing myself from my parents' minds forever?"

Severus shifted on his feet and said calmly, "I've seen you drunk. You were anything but happy that night. It won't help. Believe me."

"Sod off, you bastard!"

She marched from the room, stomping her feet as she clenched her hands into fists at her sides. Severus sighed and ignored the shouted insult, knowing she was overwhelmed with emotion and lashing out at him. He followed her slowly, and then quietly suggested, "If you'd like to calm down and lift your spirits a bit, just for today, then I can help you." He raised his wand and nonverbally Summoned a vial of Elixir to Induce Euphoria from his private stores. It shot across the house and flew into his hand, and he held the little bottle out to Hermione. "Here."

She snatched it from him and read the label, scowling up at him as she mumbled bitterly, "I don't want to prance about like a fool singing and tweaking my nose; I just want to forget. Just for today."

Severus cocked his head to the side and explained, "Those are the effects if one takes the elixir under ordinary mental circumstances. Given your situation, all it would do is dull the grief and sadness for a bit. Perhaps simply make you feel as though you had a good mood. It's better than getting sick and melancholy from firewhisky."

She stared at the bottle for a long while, turning it over in her fingers as she considered whether or not to take it. Then, at last, she pulled out the cork and tipped it into her mouth, shoving the empty phial back into Severus' palm. He Vanished that like he'd done with the firewhisky and said, "Come sit down. I'll fetch you some tea."

He went into the kitchen and grabbed an old mug with a hairline crack in it from a cabinet, washing it in the sink to rid it of dust. Then he filled it with water and used his wand to heat it before tossing in some instant tea granules and a few spoonfuls of sugar. Hardly the most elegant cup of tea in the world, he considered, but it would do.

By the time he made his way out to the sitting room, Hermione had pulled her knees up to her chest on the divan and was looking out the window serenely. Severus could already see that her depression had temporarily lifted, giving way to a few hours' blissful respite.

"Thank you," she murmured contentedly as she took the mug of tea from Severus. She sipped it and spluttered a little before gulping it down, and she let out a low, rumbling chuckle. She set the mug upon the low table before her and teased Severus, "Oh, that's dreadful!"

"I'm sorry," he laughed lowly, sitting beside her and reaching up to pet her caramel-colored curls lightly. "Let's talk about something… something that has nothing to do with the Dark Lord or Dumbledore or -" he stopped before he said ' _your parents_ ,' not wanting to hurtle her back into sadness.

Hermione smirked at him. "All right," she sighed happily. Then, after a brief moment, she asked him, "Why haven't you redecorated this place? It wouldn't be that difficult, not with magic…"

She rose and started walking aimlessly about the sitting room. Severus found himself smiling, genuinely smiling, as he watched her examine his shabby curtains and point her wand at them. She mumbled something, and the terrible old material changed from a faded flowery pattern into a smart stripe of coffee brown and cream in crisp raw silk. She grinned up at her handiwork. "There! That's much better!"

"Are you going to design the whole place, then?" Severus demanded, transfixed by the sight of her as she stood over his threadbare rug and pointed the tip of her wand at it. It changed into a plush, low-pile extravagance, brown and cream and… rose pink. "Oh… _no_." Severus frowned deeply. "That is ghastly and feminine. No pink. Change it back."

Hermione giggled at him, and he felt an odd stirring of love for her in his chest as he watched her face light up with happiness for the first time in weeks. She nodded with conciliatory grace and changed the rug into a solid dark brown. "Better?" she pressed. Severus just nodded mutely.

She spent the next twenty minutes bobbing about the room, changing old vases into sleek crystal sculptures and hideous Victorian-style lamps into Asian-inspired swank. Soon the room was sleek and stylish, and Severus flicked his eyes around, impressed, and said,

"Professors Flitwick and McGonagall would be very proud. Now, come sit down, would you? You're making me dizzy, trotting laps about the room like you're doing."

She smiled as he teased her, and when she came back to the divan, she opted not to sit beside him. Instead, she put her wand down on the table and cast a knee over each side of Severus' thighs. He felt his breath hitch in his lungs as she sat lightly atop his lap, snaking her arms around his shoulders and lowering her face to kiss his lips gently.

"Mmm," Severus moaned in protest, pulling away, "Not today, Hermione… I don't want to take advantage of you when you're artificially happy. Doesn't feel right."

And it didn't, really… for he knew that the little smiles she was quirking at him were simply plasters on top of tears, that any sense of peace she had right now was fragile and temporary and not at all real. So her kiss didn't trigger the normal swells of want in him… instead, he felt like a cur for kissing her back. He gently held onto her waist and moved her pouting form off of him until she sat beside him.

"But… but I'm _desperately_ hot-blooded at the moment, Severus," she murmured beside him, and he watched as the little fingers on her left hand drifted around her torso, caressing her own breasts, and then dragged down before snaking under the waistband of her denims. Severus made a move for her wrist, whispering frantically,

"Stop it, Hermione."

"Why?" she insisted petulantly. She flashed him a meaningful glare. "We made love the first night here. For comfort, no? Why not now?"

"It can't always be for comfort." Severus shook his head firmly, releasing her wrist when she pushed her hand beneath her knickers and began to pulse her fingers there. Severus swallowed, feeling himself go hard in his trousers, and shut his eyes.

"No," he heard Hermione agree beside him. "It can't always be for comfort. But perhaps it can today."

Severus' eyes shot open when he realized that the buttons on his trousers were suddenly being unfastened by her lithe little fingers, that her nimble hands were pulling his firm member out and playing with him. He wanted to protest, knowing it was the chivalrous thing to do, but it felt terribly good to have her touch him. So all he did was tip his head back against the back of the sofa and snarl a little through his teeth.

Then there was wet warmth around him, and he gasped as he flicked his eyes down to see that she'd taken him in his mouth. His hands flew to her head and his fists balled in her tangled curls.

" _Ungh_ … Hermione…" He should have told her to sit up, offered her another cup of terribly-brewed instant tea or a biscuit or a bit of conversation. But he didn't. He just groaned her name every time she dipped down and let his tip his the back of her throat, and he hissed desperately when she sucked firmly on his length. She moaned happily onto him, and her voice vibrated on his skin.

He could see that her own hand was still buried in her unzipped denims, pulsing and grinding inside her knickers. The sight of her touching herself while she used her mouth on him was too much. Severus felt a twisting pleasure knot itself in his stomach, felt his balls drawing themselves up to his body, felt his cock stiffen like mad inside her mouth. He ground his teeth and mumbled, "Hermione, stop."

She ignored him, continuing to bob up and down and swirl her hand around his tip. Severus was close… so close. He dug his fingertips into her scalp and said more insistently, "Stop… Hermione… _stop!"_

He wrenched her off of him and panted furiously as she stared up at him in alarm, letting her hand fall from his throbbing shaft. "What's wrong?" she asked, her saliva shining beautifully on her swollen lips. Severus gulped.

"I don't want to…" He felt his cheeks color with humiliation when Hermione crumpled her eyebrows, and he so he huffed rather fiercely, "I don't want to _come_ in your mouth, Hermione. I am made to understand that it is quite unpalatable. Please sit up."

But then an odd sort of glint crossed her amber eyes, a wicked little sheen of delight, and she slowly sank back down and took him in her mouth once more. Severus grunted desperately and bucked his hips as the wet warmth of her throat gripped him. He couldn't help it when he exploded into her mouth, feeling the volleys of his seed burst forth as his ears rang and his skin tingled. He panted and groaned and felt a wonderful sudden dissolution of all the tension in his body as he came. He was whispering her name, over and over, and wrenched his eyes shut as he recovered.

Then she was sitting up beside him and chuckling in his ear, and he watched with a twinge of humiliation as she reached for her now-lukewarm cup of tea and swigged it down to wash out the taste of him. She put him back in his trousers and buttoned him up, and Severus raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well?" he asked appraisingly.

"I've had worse," she shrugged cheekily. Severus frowned deeply.

"You've had worse," he repeated, feeling confused. When would she have…

"Well, that time I tried to turn myself into Millicent Bulstrode with Polyjuice Potion, but wound up mostly-a-cat instead?" Hermione giggled merrily as she buttoned and zipped her own denims, "That tasted far worse."

"I see." Severus shook his head and crooked a little smile at her.

He pulled her gently against his shoulder and kissed the top of her hair as she pressed her palm to his sternum and sighed contentedly. If nothing else, he considered, she was distracted from the grief of having lost her parents today. If it took him spilling himself in her mouth in order to distract her… well, so be it.

"I love you, Severus," she murmured, and he just nodded back at her. They sat in an oddly peaceful silence for hours before the Euphoria wore off, and then Hermione's melancholy began to set back in. She would need more Dreamless Sleep tonight, Severus thought, though of course he could not make a habit of giving it to her. But there had been so much dreadfulness lately that he could hardly blame her for requiring it in order to find any semblance of peace.

* * *

Severus knocked firmly upon the enormous walnut front door of Malfoy Manor and was surprised when it was answered by Bellatrix Lestrange. The wispy she-devil smirked up at Severus over the threshold, glancing around behind him to see whether or not he was alone.

"Calling unannounced?" she asked skeptically. "What brings you about with no invitation, Snape?"

"I need to speak with the Dark Lord," Severus informed her, " _alone_."

"Oh, I see." Bellatrix cocked an eyebrow skeptically. "Well, the Dark Lord is very busy…"

"Why don't you let _him_ be the judge of whether or not my business warrants attention, Bella?" Severus suggested coldly, and he pushed past her rather roughly into the front hall of the Manor. Behind him, Bellatrix huffed indignantly and slammed the huge doors shut with a resounding _bang._

"Cissy!" she called childishly, stamping off from the hall and leaving Severus alone. He shifted on his feet in the cavernous, tiled room for a few agonizing moments until Narcissa Malfoy came gliding in.

"Severus," she acknowledged gracefully, holding out her hands. Narcissa was very grateful to Severus for having protected Draco, he knew, and so he was unsurprised (but relieved) by her hospitality. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Is he available?" Severus asked without pretense.

"He's upstairs in an office," Narcissa answered smoothly. "Follow me, dear."

She led Severus up a wide stone set of stairs and down a long corridor, lined with flickering sconces, until they finally arrived at an open doorway. Narcissa held out her hand to make Severus pause and knocked upon the doorjamb.

"Enter."

Voldemort's voice was oily and smooth, and Narcissa visibly squared herself and silently cleared her throat before stepping over the doorway into the room. "My Lord," she murmured reverently, "Severus Snape is here to see you, if you have a moment."

"Naturally," Voldemort acknowledged, and Severus heard the rustling of parchments being shoved away. "Send him in and leave us, Narcissa."

Narcissa Malfoy came back out into the corridor and beckoned for Severus to enter the room, which he did with a grateful nod to her. He shut the office door behind him and cast a silent _Muffliato_ to keep his meeting private. He glanced around the office, a sizeable, mahogany-paneled space befitting the Dark Lord. Voldemort was seated at a chunky, ornate desk upon which Nagini was coiled lazily. His own grey hands were tented on the desk's surface and his cold eyes stared at Severus' questioningly.

"Good morning, Severus."

"Good morning, My Lord." Severus took a tentative step into the room.

Voldemort wandlessly shoved the chair opposite him out for Severus and gestured elegantly. "Sit."

Severus obeyed, trying to keep his face steely as he began, "My Lord, I am here to speak with you about Hermione Granger."

"Your little toy."

Severus hesitated. "Yes," he acknowledged finally.

"What about her?" Voldemort sounded rather skeptical.

"The night I killed Albus Dumbledore," Severus began by reminding Voldemort of his deeds of loyalty, "Miss Granger was... _renounced_ … by several members of the Order of the Phoenix, as well as by Harry Potter himself, when they learned that she had been engaged in a liaison with me. Once Potter learned that I killed Dumbledore, and that Miss Granger had been sleeping with me, Potter wanted nothing more to do with her."

"And how did Potter manage to put those pieces together?" Voldemort asked doubtingly.

"Miss Granger, in a fit of foolish adolescent trust, had revealed her activities with me to Ginevra Weasley, a friend of hers."

"Ginevra Weasley!" Voldemort laughed uproariously. "Ah. Yes. That one."

"Yes." Severus shifted uncomfortably. "Well, Miss Weasley then informed Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, and Harry Potter, among others, about the affair. They immediately turned on Miss Granger, and she left the school."

"Where did she go?" Voldemort frowned.

"She found me, eventually," Severus acknowledged hesitantly. "I had given her my address for the purposes of summertime encounters to maintain the passage of information from Potter to you. However, I regret that she is no longer an ally of Potter's."

"Well, that's unfortunate for you, then," Voldemort sneered. "Since she is a Mudblood, she'll be disposed of quickly."

"Yes, well." Severus started to pull out the thick folder of documents he'd brought and pushed them gently across the desk to Voldemort. "As regards that concern… I would like to share with you these papers that Miss Granger found at the home of her parents relatively recently. Her parents are selling their residence in suburban London, and Miss Granger, in assisting their packing, stumbled across antique graduation documents from Durmstrang and Beaxbatons. Upon further investigation, she uncovered a large and unbroken line of Dutch wizardry on her mother's side. Her mother, as it happens, is a Squib but was unaware of her heritage."

Voldemort looked exceedingly skeptical as he pored over the various documents. He pointed his wand at paper after paper and muttered spells to try to undo attempted forgeries.

"I tried the same things, My Lord," Severus insisted. "I admit I, too, was quite suspicious of Miss Granger. She is brainy and prideful enough that I thought she must be trying to impress me by forging documentation of a long-lost wizarding heritage. I spent hours attempting to reveal forgery in the documents and could find no evidence of falsification."

Voldemort scowled up at Severus. "So the girl is a half-blood?"

Severus cocked his head to the side and shrugged. "As am I, My Lord. It appears that the girl is not a Muggle-born, after all."

"Well, how _convenient_ for you," Voldemort sneered, narrowing his eyes and shoving the papers back across the desk at Severus. He was silent for a very long moment before he said, "You shall be wanting to take her back to Hogwarts with you, then."

"If it is convenient, My Lord."

"Don't make any more of a scandal than necessary," Voldemort said, sounding bored and flicking his hand at Severus. "You're an intelligent man, Severus; do me a favor and be discreet, is all I ask, eh?"

"My hope, My Lord, is that Potter and Weasley will eventually attempt to repair their friendship with her and wind up giving her more information that I may pass along to you… to assist our cause. And, at least for the time being, Miss Granger is very thoroughly against Potter, from an emotional perspective."

Voldemort nodded. "Find a way to make her useful, then." He flicked his eyes out the window at the rain that had started to fall, and then back to Severus. He asked calmly, "Are you in love with the girl, Severus?"

Severus felt his mouth fall open a bit in surprise. He paused and swallowed heavily and went to shake his head, but Voldemort let out a low chuckle and murmured,

"Don't bother lying to me. Your fearful hesitation is all the answer I need. Of course you are in love with her; you've always been a dreadfully sentimental creature despite your valiant attempts to be hard-hearted. _Love_ … such a ridiculous, laughable notion, and yet I envy its power to bring men to their knees."

Severus said nothing, feeling his heart thump with alarm in his chest as Voldemort dragged his bony fingertips down the smooth curls of Nagini's sleeping form. "Go home to her, Severus," he mumbled. "I shall tell Dolores Umbridge to leave the girl be."

"Thank you, My Lord."

* * *

Severus made his way up the stone staircase in Malfoy Manor, knowing he was unfashionably early for the meeting that had been called. In the wake of the great break-out from Azkaban, Voldemort's ranks had swollen once more and the Death Eaters were overconfident.

Severus had just come to Wiltshire straight from Knockturn Alley, where he'd had a final meeting with Mundungus Fletcher in a dark, small tavern. The men had Disillusioned themselves and nursed tankards of ale and talked about how Harry Potter was going to be moved from Petunia Dursley's home the following Saturday. Severus had placed a silent but thorough Confundus charm upon Dung Fletcher, as he'd been directed to do months earlier by Dumbledore.

"So, I'll get all that in place straight away, then," Mundungus had confirmed, repeating the details back to Severus - of how members of the Order of the Phoenix would disguise themselves as Harry Potter to throw off Voldemort should they be intercepted while moving the boy. Severus had Confounded Fletcher once more before taking his leave, and as he withdrew from the tavern, he could see that Mundungus believed himself to have simply come for a lonely pint…

' _What a properly fine idea I've come up with,'_ Severus could hear the man thinking through Legilimency. ' _No one will doubt my loyalty with an idea like this! Ho! Polyjuice and decoys… brilliant! You're a right strategist, you are, Dung...'_

Severus had smirked, Disapparated to Wiltshire with a _pop,_ and strode confidently into Malfoy Manor, which had been opened for the large meeting.

"Severus."

He startled and jolted, taking a brief moment to compose himself before turning with a stony face to see Lord Voldemort stalking slowly toward him in the dim corridor. The man's loyal snake, Nagini, followed him closely as always and let out a low hiss.

"Good evening, My Lord," Severus greeted with a nod. "I am early, I know…"

"You are," Voldemort acknowledged, "but it is better than being late. Come. Sit with me."

Severus felt a pang of unease as he followed Voldemort into a small sitting room, for behind him, he heard the unmistakable shriek of someone receiving the Cruciatus curse in a distant space. Severus sighed quietly and threw up his mental guards carefully.

Voldemort sank into a burgundy leather wingback chair and flicked his hand to the fireplace, which burst into warm flames. Nagini coiled at the Dark Lord's bony, slippered feet, and he arranged his gray robes regally.

"How is your own familiar?" Voldemort asked with a little quirk of a sarcastic smile. Severus had no owl, nor cat, and Voldemort knew that full well. He meant Hermione, of course. Severus flicked up the corners of his lips as he sat in a green velvet chair opposite the dark master.

"She is pleasant enough, My Lord," Severus said. "I thank you again for allowing me to keep her."

"Hm." Voldemort was silent for a long moment and stared into the fire. "And is she friends again with Harry Potter?"

"No, My Lord." Severus shook his head. "The boy has no idea where she is, and thus has no way of contacting her. I check her head regularly for any sign of it, just the same."

"Good man." Voldemort flicked up his silver eyes. "How do you intend to manage the inevitable harassment she will face when you take her back to school? Ginevra Weasley, for example?"

"Yes… well, perhaps 'example' is the right word," Severus said uncomfortably. "Perhaps an 'example' would be made of Miss Weasley…"

Voldemort laughed then, a terrible cackle of wicked mirth, and he threw back his bald head to reveal his sinewy throat. "Oh, Severus," he sighed. "I should think the place will be properly terrifying under your tenure. Those precious children, so accustomed to Dumbledore's grandfatherly distribution of Sugar Quills and Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, shall have quite the shock." He touched the pads of his fingers together and smiled jovially at the thought of the students being tortured and tormented and chuckled under his breath, "No matter. You've always had quite the mind for discipline and order. I've every confidence you shall run the place as an effective institution of educational training… so long as you do not allow silly little notions like _love_ to get in the way, you understand?"

"Naturally, My Lord. Nothing at all can supercede my sense of duty." Severus nodded firmly, then rather sneered, "Least of all a foolish little girl."

Voldemort laughed again. "I discovered that for myself, once. Do you know, a long, long time ago, Severus… I thought perhaps I was in love with Bellatrix? It haunted me, the horrific notion of that. I knew she loved me fiercely, and I thought rather fondly of her. She looked good enough to devour, you know, in her youth. I'm certain you remember what she looked like when you first joined our ranks."

Severus thought back to the days when he'd been fresh out of Hogwarts and Bellatrix had been only a few years older. They had not gotten along well, even then; they had always butted heads and she had always looked down on him. But her dark, mysterious beauty had always been undeniable. Before her long stretch in Azkaban had sapped her of her sanity and looks, Bellatrix had been possessed of silky black curls, porcelain skin, wild onyx eyes, and full ruby lips. She'd been tall and willowy with curves in the right places. She'd moved with a preternatural grace and spoken with a lusty, throaty voice that made men shiver with want. Of course Severus had noticed her; everyone had noticed her in those days. Severus nodded at Voldemort, who continued,

"She was desperately in love with me, and poor Rodolphus knew it better than anyone. Bella was so clingy and obnoxious with her affections, and so beautiful to look at, that I thought I _must_ feel something for her in return. Something beyond lust, you know. I stayed awake at night wondering that - horrified by the prospect."

"And did you, My Lord?" Severus cocked an eyebrow, knowing he was being horribly impertinent by asking. But Voldemort was sharing more than Severus would have ever expected, and so Severus knew full well what the answer to his question would be. He was not at all surprised when Voldemort chuckled cruelly and said,

"No. Of course not. I had her a few times, and she was delicious. I'll grant her that. But did I _love_ her? Could I ever _love_ Bella? Ha! No. Of course not. But do me a favor, Severus - do not tell _her_ that, eh? Her false hope is rather endearing, and it keeps her latched to me like a parasite."

Severus frowned but nodded. He knew that Voldemort very rarely engaged in personal conversations with _anyone_. Perhaps only with him. It was because the Dark Lord knew that Severus Snape, out of all the Death Eaters in his possession, was the least likely to go about discussing Voldemort's personal matters. Even if Voldemort knew that Severus was sharing crucial strategic information with the Order of the Phoenix, he knew that Severus wouldn't share this. It wasn't in Severus' nature.

And it wasn't. It truly wasn't something Severus was wont to do to sit about with Remus Lupin and discuss how Voldemort didn't - _couldn't -_ love Bellatrix. That was not a conversation Severus would ever have with anyone. Not even Hermione. And Voldemort knew that… which is why they were talking about it now, here, in front of this fireplace in Malfoy Manor.

There was a gentle knocking upon the doorjamb, and Severus glanced up to see Narcissa Malfoy staring fearfully into the room.

"My Lord," she said quietly, "they are arriving."

"Thank you, my dear," Voldemort said smoothly. "Come, Severus."

Severus rose and followed Voldemort down the corridor into the dining room, joining him at the long table that slowly began filling with Death Eaters. When Severus saw Antonin Dolohov sit down, he realized the gravity of the breakout from Azkaban. He fought to control his expression toward Dolohov - the man who had attacked Hermione in the Department of Mysteries.

The meeting was odd and unsettling. Severus had to discredit Yaxley's incorrect assertions about when Harry Potter would be moved, so that he could ensure his own trustworthiness in the eyes of the Death Eater inner circle. So now it was that Voldemort knew full well about Harry Potter being moved the following Saturday, and Severus would be sucked into plans to intercept and kill the boy. Somehow, Severus knew, he would have to participate in the attempts on Potter's life while simultaneously attempting to save the boy.

 _All in a day's work,_ he found himself silently scowling.

It had been established that Potter's movement would coincide rather neatly with the overthrow of the Ministry of Magic, something that Severus feared greatly for its implications on the Muggle-born population. He swallowed as he sent long-distance thanks to Hermione for so convincingly forging her own documentation.

Then Voldemort had taken Lucius Malfoy's wand for the deed of killing Harry Potter, knowing that his own wand and Potter's were incompatible. Voldemort had taunted Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Draco because of how Nymphadora Tonks (Bellatrix's niece) had married Remus Lupin recently. Around the table, vicious laughter had greeted the Dark Lord's pronouncement, though Bellatrix had frantically insisted she and Narcissa were estranged from Nymphadora's branch of the illustrious Black family tree. Voldemort had softened his mockery and promised Bellatrix the chance to kill Nymphadora herself. Bellatrix had nodded and grinned with gratitude, but Severus remembered the words Voldemort had spoken to him before the meeting.

' _Could I ever love Bella? Ha! No. Of course not._ '

As Severus watched Bellatrix's cloying gaze linger on the Dark Lord throughout the meeting, he wondered absently whether or not Voldemort's lack of ability to love had actually been an asset for him when it came to Bellatrix. For years - _decades_ \- she had fawned ceaselessly over him, hoping in vain that one day he might look at her with some modicum of the admiration with which she stared at him. But he never had, and he never would. His cold silver eyes regarded her with boredom, condescension, contempt, or mild appreciation, depending on his mood and the situation. But never love. And, in that way, Voldemort had ensured that Bellatrix would never become a weakness for him.

Had Hermione become a weakness for Severus, he wondered? He knew that he loved her, very much indeed. He would give anything to protect her now - his own safety, certainly, but perhaps he would even sacrifice the greater good just to protect her. In fact, Severus knew that was almost certainly true. He was disinclined, for instance, to actively help the Order of the Phoenix at the moment, since they were all convinced that Hermione was wicked for having slept with him. How quickly they had turned against her; how fickle and flighty and childish! Any semblance of loyalty that Severus had to _the cause_ had vanished when they'd turned against Hermione. Now, all he cared about was ensuring that she was safe, healthy, happy… with him.

She _was_ a weakness for him, he knew. Voldemort knew it now, too, and that might be the death of Severus, in the end. But there was nothing he could do for it. Nothing at all. He could not sit before Hermione and flash her a cold, empty, unfeeling glare. He could not laugh about the impossibility of loving her. He could not manipulate her feelings for him into a strategic advantage. Hermione was not Bellatrix, and Severus was not Voldemort. He _did_ love her, and if she was a weakness, then so be it.

He would rather that, he decided, as he watched Voldemort cast a Killing Curse at the hovering Charity Burbage and feed the Hogwarts teacher to his snake. Severus shuddered quietly as he tried to ignore the terrible squelching sound of Nagini eating the former Muggle Studies professor.

Yes, he would rather _love_ Hermione, would rather she be a weakness for him, than be this man. Voldemort could not feel anything but hate and a chilly sort of glee when he'd done evil. He could not love; he was completely incapable of it to anyone, not just Bellatrix. Perhaps the Dark Lord did not allow love to weaken him, but he did not allow it to strengthen him, either. And that, Severus knew, was the biggest weakness of all.

* * *

Hermione paced anxiously around the sitting room at Spinner's End, her shoes creaking upon the wooden floor every time she passed the loose board. She sighed and put her hands firmly on her hips, staring at the clock and realizing only three minutes had passed since she had last done so.

Severus was off with the Death Eaters - again. All he could tell her was that tonight Harry was being moved from the Dursleys, and that Voldemort was going to try to kill him. There would be a set of multiple Harrys, Hermione knew, if they went along with the plan Severus had implanted in the mind of Mundungus Fletcher. Severus was going to have to pretend to participate in an ambush, but would, in reality, try to interfere on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix.

It was very brave of him, Hermione thought, and very altruistic, to do that. They all hated him; they all thought he was an evil villain. And, yet, he put himself at risk day after day for them, and they despised him anyway.

Hermione sat down on the divan with a huff and stared at the empty teacup before her. Severus had been gone for nearly three hours, and she'd had four cups of tea since he'd left. Besides the good solid flush of her bladder and solid rehydration, the tea had left her a tad jittery. It wasn't helping the existing anxiety caused by the nerve-wracking nature of tonight's scenario.

Hermione stared at the old porcelain cup and pointed her wand at it, trying to distract herself as she whispered, " _Draconifors._ '

The teacup morphed and wiggled and shifted until it was no longer made of porcelain and had become a small, writhing dragon on the coffee table. Hermione watched as the tiny Antipodean Opaleye slithered silently around the slick surface. The docile, miniature dragon slipped a bit on the shiny wood and stumbled, puffing out a bit of smoke in protest and grunting rather adorably. Hermione couldn't help but giggle a little as the Antipodean Opaleye flashed its wide, multicolored gaze up at her.

"Oh, I rather wish I could keep you," she murmured down to the dragon. But it had been Transfigured from a teacup, after all, and even if she left it be, it would disappear in a few hours. She changed it back into the teacup before she got too attached, and stood with a gasp when she heard the front door open and shut quickly. She whirled and cried, "Severus!"

He threw off his traveling cloak and strode briskly into the sitting room, his onyx eyes flashing with unmasked panic. He rushed across the space and dropped his wand rather unceremoniously upon the divan, taking Hermione's cheeks in his hands and kissing her firmly on the mouth.

"What happened?" she demanded, when he pulled away at last. She pressed her palm to his jaw and could feel his heart racing there. "Is Harry dead?"

Severus shook his head no. "He is alive." He shook his head again quickly, shutting his eyes as if he still had difficulty believing what had happened. "Mundungus Fletcher Disapparated as soon as he sensed his life was in danger - the treacherous child. Alastor Moody was killed. I hit someone - one of the Weasley twins, I think, judging from his reaction - with a stray _Sectumsempra._ But I was aiming for a Death Eater. Took the boy's ear off, I'm afraid. There was -"

"Wait!" Hermione stepped back and held her hand up, widening her eyes in shock. "Professor Moody was killed?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't call him 'Professor,' Hermione. Your fourth year, you were instructed by Barty Crouch, Jr., not by Alastor Moody. Yes. He was killed. I saw him fall."

Hermione felt her chest crumple. Her mouth opened and then shut again. And someone's ear had come off - because of an errant spell by Severus. Well, if anyone else saw _that_ , it was hardly going to help Severus' standing in their minds. Hm.

"But Harry is alive?" she asked again. Severus nodded.

"The Dark Lord is infuriated," he said. "He broke away when his wand was damaged - well, not his wand. Lucius Malfoy's wand. It was damaged by some spell, or burst of magic, sent by Potter, or at least by his wand. I can not be certain. We were flying, and it was all quite confusing. The Dark Lord sent us all home, except for Rodolphus Lestrange, who is badly injured. He's brooding; angry. His only comfort is that Yaxley's just days away from taking over the Ministry of Magic."

Hermione felt her mouth go dry. "It's all about to change," she said numbly, "even if Harry survived… Ron, all of them. It doesn't matter, does it?"

"I don't know anymore," Severus said honestly. "The Ministry will fall soon, and when it does there will be changes and repercussions none of us can foresee." He paused for a long moment. "You are coming back to Hogwarts with me."

"Yes." Hermione nodded firmly. "I am. We will be together, Severus."

"You have absolutely no supplies for your seventh year," he reminded her. "If you're to earn your N.E.W.T.s, you shall be needing a trip to Diagon Alley. Unless you've got all the standard seventh-year textbooks hiding in that expanded purse of yours…"

"No," Hermione admitted, shaking her head. She'd been hiding in Spinner's End for weeks now, except for her brief interlude to her parents' house. A trip to Diagon Alley was at once a thrilling prospect and a terrifying one, in light of current events. She looked up at Severus and scowled a bit. "I don't know if it's wise for me to go alone," she said. "What if Bellatrix has eyes and ears there? But I can't go with _you_ ; it wouldn't be…"

She let her voice trail off. She didn't need to say what it would look like for her to wander down Diagon Alley alone with Severus. It was obvious what it would look like, and it rather broke her heart to think of it. Would there _ever_ be a time in her life when no one would think twice of the sight of her strolling alongside her the older wizard she loved? Why did they all have to care so bloody much? She frowned up at him again as he laughed darkly under his breath, and then he said,

"No; we can't exactly sit in The Leaky Cauldron sipping on butterbeer together." He rolled his dark eyes and held out his wand, muttering a quiet spell. A little bottle came flying from his private potions stores, and he held it out mutely to Hermione. She took it and studied the small amethyst-colored bottle, struggling to read the script on the label.

 _Minnuere Annis - CAUTION - One drop per ten years._

Hermione narrowed her eyes and pinched her lips as she mumbled skeptically up at Severus, " _Minnuere Annis_ potion? Why have I not heard of it?"

"Well, you saw something similar in action, if only by accident," Severus shrugged. "When Crabbe attempted the Aging Potion and failed, he shot himself back in time by mistake. I invented the _Minnuere Annis_ Potion as a controlled method of doing what he did by chance. I've only used it a few times, in the course of testing the recipe. Once the drinker ages themselves backward, the effects last approximately twenty-four hours, so it is quite strong. If you drink too much…" he shrugged and winced. "I wouldn't want to find out."

"So, you're going to have me make myself a five-year-old, like Crabbe did?" Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise at Severus and stared down at the purple bottle for a moment, then back up at him. She shook her head, confused. "What will that help?"

Severus sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "No, silly girl," he said. " _You're_ not going to age back. _I_ am. I shall make myself the age of a Hogwarts student - your 'friend,' and we shall get your shopping done quickly. It's actually a less obvious disguise than Polyjuice, since it's not assuming someone else's distinct, recognizable identity."

"But what if someone recognizes what you looked like when you were young?" Hermione asked anxiously, even though her own head was swimming with wonder at the thought of seeing a teenaged Severus. He quirked a little smile at her.

"I carry myself rather differently now," he informed her, "and I shall dress in a way that renders me unrecognizable from my eighteen-year-old self. I shall look positively Gryffindor in nature. Now, off to bed with you. It's past midnight and we need to take care of all this Diagon Alley business in the morning, if you please. I don't want to wait; not with all the turbulence in the world at the moment."

Hermione lay beside him in bed that night with a stormy mind, unable to sleep. Harry was alive, and probably Ron, and probably most everyone else. But someone was missing an ear, and Mad-Eye Moody was dead. Tomorrow she and Severus would attempt to secure her school supplies before the Ministry was overthrown by a silent army of psychopaths bent on eugenics and genocide.

And, for some childish reason, all she could _truly_ think of was, ' _I wonder what he looked like at eighteen.'_

She got her answer the following morning. She had finally fallen asleep, though not until perhaps four o'clock, and so she was deeply unconscious when he violently shook her shoulder around eight o'clock.

"Hermione."

"Umph." She rolled over, away from the shaking and the firm sound of her name, desperate to sleep some more. "No, Severus… sleep…"

"Hermione. Let's go, please."

There was something different in his voice. It was still relatively deep, still a harsh clip, still carefully pronounced. But there was less grit to it, less growl. It was more smooth, less touched by age and wear and exhaustion. When she realized that, Hermione's eyes flew open and she slowly, carefully turned in the bed until she was facing him.

She gasped, pulling her fingers to her lips in shock as she took in the sight of him. "Severus…" she whispered, her voice cracking in disbelief. His mouth - his foreign, yet familiar mouth - quirked up in a self-conscious, crooked smile, and his cheeks colored.

He was still tall, though perhaps two inches shorter than he was in his mid-thirties. His slick black hair had been pulled back with a band into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck, though stray strands fell around his face, framing his angular countenance in black wisps. He was thin, much thinner than he was when she'd met him, and his body was almost awkward in its lithe, jutting slenderness. In his face, this meant sharp cheekbones and a sculpted chin that made his thin lips appear severe and dark on his pale skin, and made his prominent nose stand out ever the more. His pallid complexion was smooth and free from blemishes, but nearly colorless. His onyx eyes, piercing and deep, were exactly the same as she knew them now.

He was handsome, in an odd way, but endearingly ungainly, too. He was scarcely a model of Grecian beauty; he was no Viktor Krum or Cedric Diggory or any other conventionally attractive male specimen. But Hermione felt an odd twinge of love for him, seeing him how he'd once been.

She sat up straighter in the bed and took in the clothes he'd Transfigured out of his own normal robes, and she could not help but quietly giggle. He was wearing dark denims, slim cut, with his normal dragon-hide boots, and a navy blue jumper rolled up to his elbows. He looked… sexy.

"Get dressed," he commanded her, after she'd had her fill of staring at him, and Hermione jolted. She looked him in the eyes and was utterly confused by the simultaneous familiarity and strangeness of him. She just nodded and quickly rose from the bed, dashing to the bathroom to relieve herself, wash her teeth, and pull a brush through her hair. She got dressed in a loose red tunic and denims of her own, and pushed on a pair of brown loafers before yanking her hair into a quick loose braid down the middle of her back. She grabbed her purple expanded bag, glancing inside to ensure her money was in it, and nodded at Oddly-Young-Severus.

As they made their way down the staircase, she heard his newly-smooth voice say, "Don't call me by my name. Call me 'Silas Whitebeam.'"

"Silas Whitebeam," Hermione repeated with a firm nod. "And are you a Gryffindor, Silas?"

"Not a student at Hogwarts." He shook his head at her in frustration, as if it were obvious why that were an illogical thing for her to ask. Seeing her frown, he continued, "There will likely be other Hogwarts students in Diagon Alley this time of year. If anyone asks, I study at Durmstrang. You met me through Viktor Krum."

"Oh. That makes sense, I suppose," Hermione nodded vaguely. They stepped out his front door, and she watched as Severus spent a few moments murmuring wards to protect the house. They walked down the street for a few moments until they reached the Apparition point.

"Side-Along, then," Severus said firmly, and it was odd to hear his teenaged self be so bossy, for Hermione had never seen _any_ teenaged boy so self-confident. She just nodded mutely up at him and snaked her arm through his. Then they vanished with a small crack, and she was squeezing and contorting for a moment before they landed neatly in a small side pulloff beside Broomstix in Diagon Alley.

Hermione brushed herself off and shook away the nausea, glancing up once more at the odd, boyish face of Severus' younger self. "Right, then," she said resolutely. "Let's go… erm… _Silas_."

The first bit of the shopping adventure proceeded without a hitch. Hermione got a new set of standard Gryffindor robes from Madame Malkin's without incident; indeed, no one seemed to notice Severus at all, let alone greet him or ask who he was. They moved on to Flourish and Blott's, and Hermione briefly said hello to Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan, but otherwise went about her own business of getting the textbooks she was going to need for her N.E.W.T.-level classes. They got the quills, inks, and basic parchments Hermione was going to need.

Severus started to gravitate toward Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, but Hermione hissed at him that Professor Slughorn would have all the Potions supplies she would need for her seventh-year lessons, and she managed to keep him out of the place. But then he reminded her that she needed an advanced cauldron, and she rolled her eyes as she followed his too-enthusiastic teenage form into Potage's Cauldron Shop.

Teenaged Severus' lithe, skinny form moved gracefully through the shop, carefully eyeing the cauldrons on display.

"Hello, there, my boy!" Madame Potage exclaimed, seeing the great interest with which Severus was examining her wares. "How might I help you today?"

Teenaged Severus flicked his eyes up boredly to her and said, "We require a good copper cauldron. Brass handles and feet. Heavy. Hammered exterior; half-inch thickness."

Madame Potage raised her bushy blonde eyebrows in pleased surprise. "You know quite a bit about cauldrons, don't you, my boy?" she grinned. "I've just the one, over here. One moment!"

She dashed off to fetch it, and Hermione turned angrily to Severus.

"That sounds very expensive, _Silas_ ," she huffed.

"Copper cauldrons, particularly good-quality copper cauldrons, brew potions far more quickly and effectively than low-grade pewter version," he shrugged. She knew he must be right; after decades of experience brewing thousands of potions, of course he would know precisely which cauldrons were best. But she scowled,

"I haven't the funds for something like that, Severus."

"Allow me to purchase it for you, please."

She frowned even more deeply. Severus was not a wealthy man. Hermione knew that well enough. And as Madame Potage came back out, holding the shining copper cauldron aloft triumphantly, Hermione had a sinking feeling about the price.

She was right - forty-eight Galleons for the thing - and she fought Severus once more briefly about purchasing it before he quickly plunked a sack of Galleons down on the countertop to shut her up. Madame Potage counted the coins and handed him two back, and he slickly put them in his pocket and carried the heavy copper cauldron under one arm as they walked from the store.

"Thank you, _Silas_ ," Hermione hissed through her teeth as they walked back out into the Alley.

"Your gratitude sounds rather disingenuous," she heard young Severus sneer, and she could see him smirk even though his back was to her.

"I feel guilty, is all," she admitted. Then she paused, for she saw Luna Lovegood walking toward her. She hadn't seen Luna since she'd Disapparated from the Infirmary at Hogwarts the night of Dumbledore's death, and it was terrifying to lay eyes upon someone who knew the truth about her.

"Oh… hello, Luna," she mumbled softly. Severus wisely took a few steps away from them.

"Hello, Hermione!" Luna thrust her arms around Hermione, shocking her with an embrace, and then the blonde-haired girl turned and said to Severus, "Oh! Hello, Professor. You look very young today, sir."

Severus' mouth dropped open for a solid beat of shocked silence, and Hermione gasped a little. She grabbed Luna's wrist and asked,

"Luna, how did you -"

"Oh, it's the eyes," Luna nodded. "No matter what people try to change… one can never escape the eyes. How are you, Hermione?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to be stunned into silence. She shook her head firmly as if ridding herself of a stray fly, and then she swallowed heavily. "I'm… we're… we are well, thank you. How are you, Luna?"

"Well, obviously I was very sad when Professor Dumbledore died," Luna said sadly, flicking her pale eyes toward Severus rather deliberately, "but I'm afraid I don't know enough about it to be anything more than… just sad. But my father and I have spent a wonderful summer on the hunt for Milsertgerams. They're these little mice-like creatures, you know, but they can fly, too, and they eat the soul of the house as they burrow through it, and then fly away and deposit it into another house…" She trailed off then, looking rather dreamy. She glanced back at Hermione. "Will the two of you be going back to Hogwarts this year?"

"Erm, yes, we will." Hermione nodded. "Luna, it's very, _very_ important that you not tell anyone about…" Hermione flicked her eyes to Severus, then back to Luna, who smiled mirthfully and nodded emphatically.

"Of course, Hermione. But, you know, I'm afraid Ginny Weasley's already told just about everyone who would listen. She sent owls to her friends about it and everything. I hope this school year isn't too rough for you because of it. But I will always be your friend. And, Professor…"

She turned to Severus, who glanced anxiously around to ensure no one was listening. It was very strange for Hermione to see Luna address the teenaged Severus as 'Professor,' but Luna seemed unfazed.

"I am not sure if I'll ever know all the details, sir, or the truth at all. But I know you're not a murderer, sir."

Wispy-faced Severus pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at Luna, and he clipped rather sarcastically, "Thank you, Miss Lovegood. Your confidence means everything to me."

Hermione felt a deep sense of dread in her stomach as they bid Luna farewell, and then Disapparated back to Spinner's End. She felt confused by it all, by the way that no one else in all of Diagon Alley had seen through Severus' disguise of youth except for Luna.

She was confused when they started to undress for bed later that night and she watched with fascination as Severus stripped off most of his clothes and, still under the effects of the potion, revealed his young body to her. It was confusing because, although he was visibly the same age as her, Hermione felt dirty and wrong for looking at him that way.

She turned away from him as she got her own pajamas on.

"It's still me, you know," she heard Severus murmur. "This is me at the same age as you."

"I know," Hermione nodded. Then, feeling guilty, she admitted, "I don't like it."

"I was a stringy little thing, I know -" Severus began self-consciously behind her. Realizing he'd misunderstood her, Hermione whirled around. She shook her head emphatically.

"That's not it," she insisted. "You're very handsome like this; you're always handsome, Severus. It's just… you're a _boy_. I fell in love with you as a man. It confuses me. I'm sorry."

He quirked a little smile at her and nodded, pulling a t-shirt on. It was loose and hung on his bony frame, though Hermione had seen it on his older self before and it was usually more snug.

"You're very right," he said at last. "When I looked like this, I was just a boy. But you're not just a girl, Hermione. Me at this age, and you at your age… we would not have been peers. Me at thirty-seven, and you now. That's more equal, strangely enough. I feel odd this way, too, standing beside you. I feel… not enough."

Hermione smiled as warmly as she could manage and walked over to him. She stood before him and thought about snaking her arms up around his neck, thought about kissing him. She licked her lips as she prepared to do it, wondering if he would taste differently as a boy than he did as a man.

"I imagine I taste the same," Severus assured her with a smirk, and Hermione realized with a jolt that he'd used Legilimency on her. She felt her cheeks color and actually raised her hand as if she were going to slap him, but he caught her wrist and brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them gently. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I should not pry. Your mind is yours."

All of a sudden, Hermione's vague sense of curiosity about him turned into a fiery want, and his young self abruptly appeared very appealing to her. She felt a ripple of desire shoot through her, a spike of moisture between her legs.

Before she knew what was happening, her flannel pajama pants and her knickers were gone, and her t-shirt, too. His clothes soon followed, and they were madly kissing one another as they flopped naked onto the bed. He pinned her down as heavily as he could manage with his skinny body and she reached behind his neck to free his hair from its little ponytail.

"You taste the same," she whispered fiercely, when he broke away to drag his lips down her neck, over her collarbone, to suckle a bit at her small breast. His slender fingers, which felt so familiar but not as calloused as usual, worked their way between her legs and pulsed and twisted until she clenched desperately around him.

He cast a Sterility Charm on her and drove his cock into her, and Hermione smirked a little as she realized she did not feel as full as usual. Perhaps, she realized, some men were not completely done growing _there_ at eighteen.

" _Ungh…_ feels too good… I'm sorry," Severus moaned atop her, and he crushed his mouth onto hers as he bucked his hips a few tips and spilled himself inside of her. Hermione smiled happily up at him, at his beautifully familiar onyx eyes as he shivered and recovered.

The next morning, the grey light of dawn and the soft pattering of rain awakened her.

She groaned and turned in the creaky bed, pulling the tattered quilt around her more tightly as she looked upon Severus' still-sleeping form. The potion had worn off and he was back to his normal self. After she'd been staring at him for a long while, his smoky eyes cracked open and he murmured drowsily,

"Had your fill of the old man in your bed, Miss Granger? Enjoying the view of the grey hairs and the fine lines and the dark circles?"

She stuck her tongue out at him petulantly. "I love you, Severus Snape," she said firmly, "with all your imperfections and with everything that makes you perfect. I love you. I fell in love with you just as you are, and you're mine just like this, so you'd better -"

She was cut off rather firmly when he rolled her onto her back and latched his lips passionately onto her neck. Hermione closed her eyes, and shut her mouth, and decided to let their actions do the rest of the talking.

* * *

"Hermione."

He startled her when he came striding through the front door, and upon his face was the same look of anxiety he always wore when he came back from meetings with Death Eaters. There was never good news after such meetings - only terrible ideas that were getting steadily more frightening with each passing day. Hermione frowned.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, standing slowly in the sitting room. Severus tossed off his traveling cloak and threw it haphazardly onto the rack by the door.

"You need to go to the Burrow. Immediately," he said. "I would never ask you to compromise your safety, and I shall come with you and Disillusion myself to protect you, but… they must be warned, or Potter is going to be captured and killed, you understand?"

Hermione felt a pit of dread in her stomach. Today was the day of Bill Weasley's wedding to Fleur Delacour. Before the end of the school year, she'd been invited, but had naturally assumed that invitation had been revoked in the wake of Dumbledore's death and the discovery of her affair with Severus. She shook her head in confusion.

"I can't go there, Severus; they all hate me now. They see me as an enemy. I…"

"Hermione, Rufus Scrimgeour is dead. He's just been tortured and killed at Malfoy Manor because he refused to give up the location of Harry Potter. But you know as well as I do that the boy is in Ottery St. Catchpole, and there's a group of Death Eaters headed there in a few hours for a bit of raid to celebrate the fall of the Ministry. If they capture Potter, they will take him to the Dark Lord, and he will be murdered. Then any hope, _any hope_ , for defeating him…"

Hermione nodded quickly, feeling nauseated. "I understand," she whispered. Then, glancing down at her sweatshirt and denims, she shrugged and said absently, "I don't have a proper dress."

Severus sighed roughly, sounding irritated, and snatched his own black traveling cloak off of the hook by the door. He held it aloft and pointed his wand at it, flicking and swirling the tip about for a few moments and murmuring incantations. Gradually, the cloak began to shrink and shift and warp. It was no longer a cape; it was now a trim dress.

He shoved it into Hermione's hands, and she stared down at it in distracted wonder. She'd no idea he could tailor so well. She tossed off her sweatshirt and yanked down her denims and pulled on the dress he'd made, tugging it into place and staring down at the way it seemed to fit her perfectly.

It was wool, the same black material as his traveling robe, and nipped in at her waist before drifting out into a 1950s-style flared skirt. The neckline curved modestly around her chest and there were equally conservative cap sleeves, a detail which made Hermione smirk a bit.

"Jewelry?" she asked Severus vaguely, raising her gaze to him. He huffed and rolled his eyes impatiently, grumbling,

"We are rushing there to warn the fools, Hermione, not to socialize." But he hurried to point his wand at the empty water glass on the coffee table and transfigured it into a dangling crystal pendant on a silver chain. Hermione pointed her wand at her own trainers and changed them into simple black pumps, slipping them onto her feet. She dashed up the stairs and grabbed her purple expanded purse. As they hurried down Spinner's End to the Apparition point, she murmured to Severus,

"What exactly am I telling them? And who shall I tell?"

"Find Molly and Arthur Weasley as soon as you get there. Try to get them to speak with you privately. Tell them that the Ministry has fallen and that Death Eaters will be there in a matter of hours - that everyone must leave at once. Then come back here. I will follow you. You must not be seen by a Death Eater, Hermione. They know you're _with_ me, and if you're seen at the wedding, then _my_ credibility is completely compromised, you understand?"

They paused near the Apparition point, and Hermione frowned. "Then why don't you disguise me with a Potion or something so that I'm not recognized?" she demanded.

Severus sighed impatiently. "The Order must be able to have confidence in you," he said firmly, "and so you must show your face to _them_. It's a difficult, complicated balancing act, being a double agent, Hermione."

"I'm not a double agent!" she cried, but as he stared silently at her, she realized that she rather had become one, just by association with him. She nodded minutely. "Let's go."

* * *

The giant tent that had been set up on the grounds of the Burrow was rather hideous, Hermione thought with a grimace as she walked cautiously through its opening. It was as though a purple-hued candy shop had vomited on the interior of the tent. Certainly, it was not to Hermione's taste.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Hermione shut her eyes and sighed lightly. She had been very much hoping that the first person to spot her would not be Ginny Weasley, but there the red-haired girl was, standing in her bridesmaid's dress with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed suspiciously at Hermione.

"Please, Ginny," Hermione said, "it's _very_ important. I need to speak with your parents."

"My parents?" Ginny cocked her head to the side skeptically and scoffed. "They're rather busy. Sorry. There's a wedding today, you know."

Hermione frowned. "Where's Ronald? Harry?"

Ginny snorted. "Right. Like I'm going to let you anywhere near them right now. I want you leave, Hermione. I don't know why you've come, but I want you to leave. Now."

Feeling thoroughly irritated now, Hermione snatched Ginny's arm and dragged her roughly to the corner of the tent, ignoring the other's girl's vocal protests. Hermione whirled around and cast a wandless _Muffliato_ around the two of them.

"Listen to me, Ginny," she hissed hastily. "Voldemort's taken over the Ministry of Magic. Rufus Scrimgeour is dead. In a few hours, Death Eaters are going to come here and hurt people. Everyone needs to leave - to scatter. You understand? Go get your parents. _Now."_

Ginny looked horrified for a brief moment, and then she furrowed her eyebrows angrily and demanded, "And how is it that you've come about this information, Hermione? Severus told you, is it? Or did he kill Scrimgeour himself? Like he killed Dumbledore?"

Hermione could take it no longer. She let out a feral growl, and she reached out to clutch desperately at Ginny's shoulders and shook the other girl in frustration.

"He _had_ to kill Dumbledore! Don't any of you understand? He _had_ to! To save all of you ungrateful bastards! Dumbledore ordered him to do it - oh, it's complicated, Ginny, but… please, _please_ believe me! I've been with him, alone, for months now… Severus is _not_ evil! He's on our side; don't you understand? Why can't you all understand that he is braver than any of you!"

Hermione felt hot tears burning in her eyes now, and she saw shock cross Ginny Weasley's face with every word that she spoke. Ginny's pale eyes went wide and her lips parted as Hermione continued frantically,

"He made me come here to warn all of you! Even though you all hate him, hate me, hate _us_! I'm sorry, Ginny - I'm not sure what I could have done differently. There's nothing at all Severus could have done differently. He's always acted so selflessly in all of this. To a fault, I should say, at the expense of his reputation and to the point of being almost universally reviled. But he doesn't care, don't you see? He wants the same thing as all of you!"

There were tears in Ginny's eyes now, too, and a guilty expression crossed over the girl's face. Her bottom lip trembled a bit as she whispered quietly,

"I - I'll go get Mum."

She took a step back from Hermione and walked away, out of the tent, with her eyes staring numbly ahead as if she'd just received a great shock. Hermione slumped into a chair at a table and put her head into her hands, to hide the tears she could no longer hold back. After what felt like an eternity, she heard,

"Hermione?"

She looked up to see Mrs. Weasley standing above her, dressed in simple dark purple robes, her hair bound up neatly, beside her smartly-dressed husband. Arthur was staring down at Hermione with a deep frown wrinkling his forehead. Behind the two of them was Ginny, her pale face splotched red from crying. Hermione knew she must have told them everything Hermione told her.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," Hermione began in a cracked whisper, "I'm very sorry to interrupt the wedding. I know I'm not exactly wanted here."

"It's always very good to see you, dear," Molly Weasley said kindly, but her face looked terribly sad, and more than a little reticent.

"I - I've come to convey a warning," Hermione nodded, "that the Ministry has been quietly overthrown by Death Eaters. They will be here in a few hours for a raid. Please, you must send everyone home and take down the tent. It isn't safe here. I'm sorry."

"And you were told this… by Professor Snape?" Arthur Weasley raised his eyebrows expectantly, turning down the corners of his mouth. Hermione knew what he was thinking. His own daughter was only a year younger than Hermione, and the man was horrified at the thought of a girl barely older than Ginny with a man like Severus Snape. But Hermione just nodded resolutely.

"Mr. Weasley, you must understand that everything - _everything_ \- Severus has done up to this point has been on Dumbledore's orders. _Everything_."

"He sliced off George's ear," Ginny piped up behind her mother, and Hermione sighed.

"He was actually protecting him... from a Death Eater who was trying to _kill_ Remus Lupin," Hermione insisted softly, and she saw Molly Weasley swallow heavily. Hermione flicked her eyes between the three of them. "He didn't mean to take off George's ear. He felt badly for it." She paused and watched as Molly and Arthur looked at each other for a long moment. Molly nodded firmly.

"Arthur, dear… quietly circulate around, then, tell everyone the wedding's put off until a safer date. Then go find Ronald and Harry and send them to -" She paused and stared down at Hermione, pursing her lips. "It's not that I don't trust you, dear, but Severus Snape is a very accomplished Legilimens. Arthur, come with me."

She ushered Mr. Weasley away to prevent Hermione from hearing any more sensitive information, leaving Hermione alone with Ginny. Hermione sighed heavily and put her head back into her hands.

"I should leave now," she murmured to Ginny. "I suppose I'll see you at school. It's to be mandatory, you know, for half-bloods and purebloods to attend. Muggle-borns shan't be allowed."

Ginny squared her jaw. "Then how would you see me at school, Hermione? Special dispensation for the girlfriend of Professor Snape?"

Hermione scowled. "No, Ginny." She shook her head. "My mother's a Squib, and her mother attended Beauxbatons. I've only recently discovered it." She said the words very deliberately, pronouncing each one carefully and flicking her thick eyebrows up at the girl she'd once called her friend. "I'm a half-blood."

"Oh, you are, are you?" Ginny said.

"Didn't know you put much stock into blood status," Hermione mumbled, pulling herself up from her chair and smoothing her black wool skirt. "I really should go now. Goodbye, Ginny. Stay safe." She started to walk away, but felt Ginny's fingertips touch her arm gently. She turned round to face the girl and sighed when she saw the look of concern in Ginny's eyes.

"Are _you_ safe, Hermione?" she asked matter-of-factly, and Hermione nodded. She was not entirely sure if that was true, if she was honest. She was actually probably in grave danger, but, then, they all were. They were all likely to die at any given moment on any day now, and Hermione was just as safe as any of them.

"I love him, Ginny," she said honestly, "and he is a good man. Please remember that. Not everything you see is what it seems. Not everything you hear is the deep truth. And not everything a person is what they _want_ to do. You understand?"

Ginny nodded gravely. "Goodbye, Hermione. Thank you. Thank you for warning us."

Hermione nodded curtly. She strode quickly from the decorated tent and out into the meadow, kissed by the warm midday sun. She Disapparated to Spinner's End and landed hard upon the street there. A moment later Severus appeared beside her, his Disillusionment Charm having worn off during transport.

"How much did you see? How much did you hear?" she demanded as they strode back to his house, for there was a steely look in his eyes that she did not quite recognize.

"Everything," he answered.

Hours later, Hermione sat staring at the dancing flames in the fireplace, her heart thumping nervously in her chest. It would be done now, she knew - the Ministry was officially Voldemort's now, and any attempt to raid the wedding at the Burrow would have come and gone. If Severus had been suspected of sabotage, they'd have known it by now. She sipped absently on a hot cup of rooibos tea, setting the rattling cup and saucer down when she realized how badly her hands were shaking.

"Thank you," she heard Severus murmur from the chair opposite her. He raised his eyes from the book he was reading - a thick tome on the use of chili peppers in Potions-making - and dragged the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. Hermione shivered and whispered,

"For what?"

"For… defending me," Severus clarified rather self-consciously, shifting in his chair. "I appreciate your loyalty."

Hermione just nodded silently and stared down at her trembling hands. "I love you, Severus," she insisted, her voice cracking a little.

"And I you," he promised, closing his thick book and setting it down on the coffee table. He pushed himself up from his chair and glided smoothly until he stood directly in front of Hermione. He extended the palm of his hand to her, and she placed her own hand in his delicately, pulling herself up until she was standing up against him.

"It's going to be all right," he told her, though they both knew it was an empty pledge. Nothing was certain to be all right, and very little was likely to be all right. But it didn't matter. She was shaking and knew her face was pale. She had sat, too worried about her friends to do anything but sip tea and gaze into the fire for hours.

So it didn't really matter if there was any truth to what Severus said - that everything would be all right. What mattered was the way he put the palm of his hand flat against the small of her back and pulled her snugly against his own body. What mattered was the way his other hand cupped her cheek and turned her face up to his, the way his lips descended to hers and pressed gently with a spicy-sweet kiss.

He pulled his wand from the inside of his frock coat and pointed it at his old record player, making a few flicking and dragging motions until he'd arranged a vinyl record to start playing. The static-rich sound of cello, violin, and piano filled the little space, and Hermione felt a swell of calm come over her.

Severus pulled her right hand up in his left and she put her own left hand on his shoulder. He encouraged her to sway a little to the music, the same lackadaisical sort of dancing they'd done in the corridor outside Slughorn's party months earlier. It was soothing and comforting and warm and wonderful, Hermione thought. She rested her head against his chest and felt the little buttons of his frock coat against her cheek, felt the thump of his heart beneath the thick wool, the rise and fall of his chest with each steady breath. She let out a happy little hum against him, quite forgetting how anxious she'd been just minutes earlier.

"I meant it," she murmured against his sternum. "You _are_ a good man. I know sometimes you don't want to be thought of that way."

"I don't mind if _you_ think of me that way," Severus admitted, letting out a low chuckle that vibrated deliciously through Hermione's cheek. She felt him kiss the top of her head, and then he said thoughtfully, "I'm not sure what sort of man I really am anymore, anyway. I don't suppose it truly matters."

"It matters." Hermione nodded, his little buttons scratching at her cheek. "It matters."

They swayed in silence for long minutes, through one song and then the next, never breaking away from each other. His hand held hers, gently and securely all at once, and his feet moved in a carefully rocking circle, expertly guiding Hermione around the tiny space in a slow pattern. She felt his palm nestled securely in the small of her back, and she sighed again peacefully.

"How am I going to get to school?" she wondered absently. "I don't know if I ought to ride the Hogwarts Express alone these days, but I can't very well show up to school _with_ you."

"You shall have to take the train," Severus told her, a twinge of regret in his voice. "Anything else would be far too suspicious. You'll be fine, Hermione. You're a brilliant witch. You're more than capable of taking care of yourself. Any time I've hovered with you has been more for my own peace of mind than for your actual safety. The reality is that you don't need me to protect you - you are qualified to protect yourself."

Hermione felt her feet stop moving of their own accord, felt her face rise up to look at him with wide-eyed surprise. Severus Snape did not compliment people. He simply did not. Certainly not to the extent that he'd just done to her - to tell her that she was 'brilliant,' that she was 'qualified' and 'capable.' His affirmation meant more than any words Hermione had ever heard. She saw his cheeks color a bit at the way she was staring at him.

"I am very much in love with you," she said rather fiercely, and she meant it more than she could properly express. Severus quirked up half his mouth into a pensive, sly smile.

"Well, that's a relief to hear." He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers carefully. His right hand pressed the small of her back more tightly against him. He smiled against her mouth and murmured, "Because unrequited love makes for a good Victor Hugo novel, but a rather terrible reality, you know. I'm very glad to hear you love me back, Hermione Jean Granger. Otherwise, I should feel very lonesome indeed, drowning in you all the time as I do."

He kissed her then, warmly and gently, his tongue caressing her mouth expertly as he sighed into her body. And Hermione was no longer afraid of anything - not of Voldemort, or of school, or of death itself. She had Severus, for as long as she had him, and that was enough.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express felt very empty. Well, it didn't _feel_ empty, Hermione realized. It _was_ empty. None of the Muggle-born students were allowed to attend school this year, and some of the half-blood students' parents had made excuses for why they were unable to attend. Attendance was mandatory for anyone with sufficient blood status.

Hermione took a seat alone in a compartment and used her wand to direct her trunk up onto the rack overhead. She stared out the window onto the platform at King's Cross and watched students boarding the train, noting the looks of dread on so many parents' faces as they bid their children farewell.

Even Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy looked strained and unwell, and Draco looked less than ecstatic about returning to school, she noticed. Pansy Parkinson looked quite pleased with herself as she scrambled aboard the train, as did Blaise Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, and the Greengrass girls. Ernie Macmillan looked anxious, and Hermione noticed that his friend Justin Finch-Fletchley - a Muggle-born - was gone.

Neville Longbottom's grandmother had a look of rage on her face as her grandson ambled onto the Hogwarts Express. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt when she saw Augusta Longbottom's steely face. She could not imagine that woman's life - having seen her own child tortured into oblivion by Bellatrix Lestrange, then raising her grandson up into another war.

Ginny Weasley boarded with Luna at her side, but she would be the only Weasley at Hogwarts this year. Ron was with Harry, who was now Undesirable Number One.

Hermione wondered anxiously where Harry and Ron were, knowing that they had almost certainly begun to hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes. She wanted to help them - she knew she _could_ help them, but had no way of reaching them. She twirled her wand absently in her fingers and sighed anxiously as the train rumbled out of King's Cross, and she ignored the nervous way the parents on the platform waved goodbye to their children.

There was a gentle knocking upon the compartment in which Hermione sat, and she glanced up to see Neville Longbottom through the glass. She flashed him a weak little smile and beckoned for him to enter. He did, a worried frown on his face, and he sat opposite her, clasping his hands together anxiously.

"Erm… hi, there, Hermione," he began softly, and Hermione tried to smile again.

"Hello, Neville." She thought about asking him how his summer was, but realized that was a ridiculous question. So she just waited for him to speak. He'd obviously come here for a reason.

"Is - is it true, Hermione?" Neville's kind eyes looked pained as he winced and pulled back a little.

Hermione pursed her lips and nodded. She didn't need to ask him to clarify. He wanted to know whether or not she was in love with Severus Snape. Hermione debated whether or not to tell Neville any more. Luna knew the truth, and Ginny. But, of course, she couldn't go round telling everyone who would listen that Severus was on the side of Dumbledore and wasn't really a Death Eater. That would undermine his ability to maintain appearances with Voldemort, to continue any measure of effective double agency - to stay alive.

Naturally, Neville had always been an ally, a very important member of Dumbledore's Army and the child of two martyrs for the Order of the Phoenix. But Hermione knew she couldn't tell him too many details. It would open up too many questions; it would overcomplicate matters. It would make everyone weak and susceptible. So all she said was,

"Neville, I sincerely hope you know that I am not an evil person. I would never - _never_ \- run off an evil person. That's truly all I can say about it. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, all right." Neville nodded skeptically and looked as though she'd deeply wounded his feelings. Hermione shut her eyes for a moment, remembering how in their third year, Neville's Boggart had been of Severus. He was more afraid of Severus than of anything else in the world. Even if she told him the truth, it wouldn't matter. Neville would always fear and hate Severus. Thus, compromising lives for the sake of Hermione's own friendship with Neville would be foolhardy and reckless. She would simply have to accept that Neville would not trust her, that he would think ill of her.

It was, after all, what Severus had had to do for years now - he'd had to endure glares and jeers and whispers all in the name of _the cause_. Now it was Hermione's turn.

She watched as Neville silently made his way from her compartment out into the corridor of the train, and she leaned her head sadly against the window, watching the world fly by her.

She thought back to the last night she'd had at Spinner's End, when Severus had been lying beside her in the lumpy bed with the tatty old quilt.

"It is not going to be pleasant," he'd said, "Amycus Carrow is going to teach a course on the Dark Arts that teaches students how to hex and curse one another. Alecto's Muggle Studies course will focus on the 'disgusting' and 'lesser' nature of Muggles. Oh, and it is to be required."

Hermione had tucked herself into his bare chest and frowned deeply. "They're all going to hate me," she had murmured thoughtfully. "I shall have no friends at all."

"Miss Lovegood, at the very least, seems friendly still," Severus had noted with a little flick of his eyebrows, "though we shall have to see how she holds up. You'll just have to do without friends, I'm afraid."

Hermione stared out the train window, pressing her palm to it and watching as dewy fog gathered on the cold glass around her warm skin. Outside, raindrops lashed at the train as they headed north. Hermione's chest ached as she remembered how Severus had moved to hover above her.

"I will do everything I can," he had promised, leaning down to kiss her softly, "to protect everyone. All of the students, the teachers… you, most of all."

"You're only one man, Severus," Hermione had reminded him sadly, looking up into the sharp, deep black eyes above her. She'd brushed her fingertips over his collarbone and he'd shivered and said,

"I'm the only man who will be in any position to do anything at all. I will do everything I can."

* * *

Severus climbed the stairs of the Headmaster's Tower and stalked down the Gargoyle Corridor, feeling rather sick as he did. He should not be here, not under these circumstances. If he were to come down this corridor, it should be to visit Dumbledore in his office and receive instruction… not to usurp him. But here he was, standing in front of the stone gargoyle that had greeted him as a visitor for decades whenever he had come here. Now, it greeted him as its master, sweeping aside regally to grant him entrance.

"Administer… password, Headmaster…" The whisper was ghostly and distant, and when Severus turned back to the gargoyle, he frowned to hear it take advantage of its rarely-used ability to speak. He pulled out his elegant black wand and pointed it at the gargoyle's back, murmuring,

 _"Le sang est du sang."_

"Thank you." The gargoyle closed the entrance behind Severus as he trotted silently up the steps. He swept into the large circular room, so familiar to him, and noticed two things straight away. First, many of Dumbledore's whirring silver instruments were gone, though Severus had no idea to where they had vanished. The space was more empty than he was accustomed to seeing it.

The second thing he noticed was Albus Dumbledore himself, hanging in a large portrait directly behind the Headmaster's desk. Severus paused in the threshold of the doorway and swallowed heavily. This wasn't really Albus, he knew; it was just a rendering of him, just a painted version of himself that Albus had trained over the years to mimic his mannerisms and opinions. But, just the same, it was eerie to see the old man's face staring back at him again.

 _'Severus, please...'_

Severus shook his head firmly and strutted briskly into the office, tipping his head up with feigned confidence. The portrait of Dumbledore said nothing at first, just smiled a little at him over his half-moon spectacles and folded his hands patiently upon the purple robes he would wear in perpetuity. Severus put his wand down upon the desk and glances around the room rather anxiously. The other headmasters' portraits were all staring at him now, having roused themselves from real or pretended sleep. Most wore an expression of skepticism, but Phineas Nigellus Black looked warmly receptive, and Edessa Skandenburg glanced up from her embroidery to give him the smallest hint of a smile.

"Welcome, Headmaster Snape," said the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, and Severus felt sick again.

"Why did you make me do it?" Severus demanded without pretense. He'd heard the real Albus tell him dozens of times. He wanted to hear it from the painted version. Portrait Dumbledore's pale eyes crinkled as his kind smile broadened, and he said softly,

"Because you could not truly do it, no more than Draco could. The difference is that your clever workaround was a fulfilment of duty to the light, not the sale of your soul to the dark. Your loyalty and courage shall be rewarded, Severus."

"I don't want a reward," Severus shook his head and slumped into the chair behind the desk, staring up at the portraits. "I want peace."

Portrait Dumbledore chuckled gently. "Ah, yes. Peace. Peace would be splendid. Fight for peace, Severus. It is a most noble pursuit."

"Damned good to see a Slytherin in here once again," he heard Phineas Nigellus Black intone from his portrait, and Severus pinched his lips as he turned up to the pureblood enthusiast. He just nodded politely, not wanting to cause an uproar by disrespecting former Headmasters straight away. Besides, he may need the support of the portraits' secondary locations. It seemed most unwise to make enemies of any of them.

"I am ill-suited for this job," Severus mumbled to Portrait Dumbledore after some time of sitting contemplatively in his chair. "What am I intended to say at the Opening Feast? ' _Welcome to Hogwarts! This year, we offer you a bolstered curriculum featuring hateful propaganda and practical lessons on maiming one another. Detentions this year shall not consist of cleaning cauldrons with no magic - oh, no, you silly children. This year, shall you cross your teachers, you shall be receiving the Cruciatus Curse. Therefore, I advise you to mind your damned manners_.'"

"Wilt thou truly say such things to the pupils?" Above Severus, the Renaissance-era portrait of former Headmistress Edessa Skandenburg glared at him with horror on her brushed face. Severus rolled his black eyes up at her.

"No; I shall not actually say that, Edessa. To do so would be giving fair warning, no? But of course that is the school now. I'm simply honored and flattered to lead such a place."

"I had always understood you to be a ruthless disciplinarian in your lessons, Severus." Armando Dippet, who had himself been known as a very strict Headmaster, eyed Severus carefully. "Use that personality trait to your advantage - the school shall now a more ordered place than it was under Dumbledore, to be certain. But you must surreptitiously keep any true cruelty from coming to the students here. It is your duty as Headmaster."

"There is only so much I can do," Severus began impatiently, but then he stopped and rested his face in his hands. He raised his onyx eyes to Dumbledore's portrait and moaned softly, "I am tired, Albus."

Dumbledore's portrait chuckled a little. "So you must be. But, alas, the road ahead is long and winding, and you must gather your strength, Severus."

"And how, precisely, do you expect me to interact properly with Minerva McGonagall this year?" Severus demanded hotly. "The woman believes me to be a cold-blooded murderer! How am I to be amicable with her?"

"You aren't." The portrait of Dumbledore shook his head, and his painted beard swayed regally. "Minerva is unfortunately misinformed, but nothing can be done for that for the time being. But you shall cope with her presence, and she shall cope with the changes, for you and she have the same goal in mind - the safety of the students here."

Severus sighed heavily and turned his chair away from the portraits. He unfurled a few scrolls on his desk, a list of new students, and began absently perusing them. He had no further wish to converse with dead painted people tonight.

* * *

The Start-of-Term Feast felt significantly more solemn than usual, and the Great Hall was much more sparsely populated. Severus could feel the glaring eyes of students - most especially of Gryffindors - upon him. They did not know he was responsible for his predecessor's death. All they knew was that they did not want Severus Snape for their Headmaster. They seemed even less enthused when Severus announced the appointments of the Carrows to teaching positions and very briefly warned that discipline would be more strict than in years past. The Sorting Hat ceremony was a bit awkward when there were far more Slytherins sorted than was proportionately normal. But soon enough, most everyone in the Great Hall was tucked into their meals, enjoying the feast while engaging in droning, buzzing conversations.

Severus picked at his steak-and-kidney pie for a while, flicking his eyes up every once in a while to watch Hermione. She was sitting alone, ignored by Longbottom and Ginny Weasley and others at the Gryffindor table that might have normally been friendly with her. She was paging through a thick book and nibbling upon a dinner roll, and she looked rather dejected. Severus felt a pang of guilt, knowing that she was being ostracized from her House-mates because of him, but it ultimately it simply made him angry with the other Gryffindors for being so ignorant.

He was jarred from his reverie when Alecto Carrow said from beside him, "House Elves make a damned good kidney pie here. I'd forgotten."

"Yes..." Severus looked at her with an expression of boredom, taking in the way Alecto had yanked her strawberry blonde hair into a plain ponytail and had donned dark brocade robes. She was an unsophisticated, piggish little woman, but she looked as intimidating as her brother. Severus pinched his lips. "I do hope you find the food satisfactory, Alecto."

The witch guffawed as she slurped on her pumpkin juice. "Oh, Severus. Have you always been so pleasant, hmm?"

Severus ignored her and turned back to his own food. A moment later, though, Alecto tapped his shoulder, and Severus flinched at the contact. He scowled at her and watched as she chewed a large bite, swallowing before she murmured,

"That one. Granger. What is _she_ doing here? I thought she was a Mudblood."

Severus felt a shiver of hate course through his veins for Alecto, but he kept his face impassive. He glanced down at Hermione and shook his head calmly. "She is not," he said. "Squib for a mother, from what I understand, with relatives who attended Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Dolores Umbridge confirmed last week that her documentation was not forged."

"Hmph." Alecto nodded but sounded skeptical. Then she smirked and leered, "Still keep her for your pet, do you? Bellatrix told me you've got the girl's cunny all wrapped up for yourself."

Severus wanted to vomit, but he just blinked his stony eyes and said, "She is mine, Alecto. Do what you will with the others, but leave that one untouched."

"Of course, Headmaster." Alecto let a little edge of playful petulance come into her oily voice, and then she chuckled in her throat. "Wouldn't want to damage your goods. But, you know, Bellatrix says the girl is a close friend of Harry Potter. Is that true?"

"Miss Granger is thoroughly estranged from her old friends," Severus confirmed. "They utterly rejected her in the wake of Dumbledore's death, once it was discovered she was an associate of mine. And, anyway, Alecto, you should remember that Bellatrix is - mercifully - not the Headmistress of Hogwarts. Her personal grudges have no bearing here. I am telling you to stay away from what is mine, you understand?"

Alecto nodded, more seriously this time. Severus knew he was feared by many Death Eaters for his magical abilities and nearness to Voldemort, and he played that up now as he sat up straighter in his chair.

"I see the younger Weasley girl," Alecto noted, "but where is her blood traitor brother, the one who _is_ friends with Potter?"

"Ronald? Oh, spattergroit, I am made to understand," Severus said with a casual air of boredom. He had received a formal letter from St. Mungo's confirming a diagnosis of spattergroit in Ronald Weasley, explaining that the boy would not be attending school for the foreseeable future. Severus knew full well that the letter was a fake, that the boy was not ill, but he'd filed it away just the same and kept up the ruse.

"Hmph," Alecto said again, swigging ungracefully at her pumpkin juice. She said nothing else for the rest of the feast, fortunately, but Severus was still left with a terrible pit of dread in his stomach after speaking with her.

For more than twenty non-consecutive years, Severus had made his home in the dungeons of Hogwarts - first as a Slytherin student, then as Potions Master, and finally as teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was therefore a preposterous notion that he would take over Albus Dumbledore's private chambers. He had shuddered at the thought. Beyond the inconvenience of moving all his personal items from the Dungeons up to the Headmaster's Tower, there was the issue of sleeping in the bed Dumbledore had occupied for forty years. So, he simply did not make the move. He left the Headmaster's private quarters untouched, and he moved straight back into the Dungeon chambers he'd occupied for the past fifteen years.

Tonight, when he walked into the antechamber of his rooms, he sighed heavily, feeling quite exhausted. It was too early to sleep, but too late to wander the castle, so he sank into an armchair and pointed his wand at his fireplace. " _Incendio_."

He flicked on his Wizarding Radio and listened for a while, but in between songs, there were Ministry notifications that left him feeling more unsettled than ever.

" _Good evening! This is Dolores Umbridge, Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. Your Ministry would like to remind you that all Muggle-Born inhabitants of Britain are required to submit to Ministry headquarters immediately for private consultations regarding their individual futures. In the next several weeks, notices will be issued to those who have failed to attend. Members of the Magical community, it is all of our obligation to ensure that the Muggle-Borns among us are properly registered with the Ministry, so please do your part and kindly encourage any known Muggle-Borns to turn themselves over - hem, hem! - to meet with a Ministry representative… sooner rather than later! Thank you, and goodnight!"_

Dolores Umbridge's grating, terrible squeak of a voice faded, and the radio gave way to a sweeping piano sonata. But Severus had heard enough. He flicked his wand at the radio again and it shut off, cloaking the room in silence. Severus sat staring at the fire for a long while, until behind him there was a little pop. He turned curiously over his shoulder, and felt his eyes go wide when he saw Hermione standing in the middle of the room. In her right hand was his brass pocket-watch - her _Oraverit_ \- and she was swaying a bit as she recovered from Apparating into the room. Severus rose smoothly and put his slender fingertips on the back of the armchair, trying to drink her in.

She was wearing a simple nightgown, coral stretch cotton that reached her ankles and had little cap sleeves and a trim of lace around the sweetheart neckline. It was nothing provocative, but after many days apart from her, Severus found himself suddenly thirsty for her. Her caramel-colored hair hung around her face and shoulders in loose, messy curls, and Severus wanted to bury his fingers against her scalp. He swallowed heavily and said the opposite of what he was feeling.

"You shouldn't have come."

She looked a little hurt at that, and she chewed her lip. "I know. I told Parvati and Lavender I was going to take a long bath in the Prefects' Bathroom… and I think I may have mumbled something about needing to stay up in the Common Room to start working on an extra essay for Professor Binns… I don't know. It sounded unbelievable even to my own ears. I'm rather a terrible liar."

Severus frowned. "You should go back," he said firmly, fighting against his own instincts. "It isn't safe for you to be sneaking about to be with me."

Her chestnut eyes swam with tears as she said, "This place isn't safe at all, Severus, whether I sneak about with you or not. I feel much safer in your room than anywhere else. I know that much."

He nodded hesitantly. "Come here." His voice was dry and cracked a little, losing its characteristic smoothness in his want for her. She obeyed him and stalked gracefully across his rug, stopping when she stood before him as her little fingers reached up to work at the buttons on his frock coat.

"I'm not just your lover, you know," Hermione murmured, staring at his sternum determinedly. Severus frowned a bit in confusion as she very slowly unfastened his buttons, but she clarified, "I'm with you. In every way. This is an enormous, inhuman task that's been set before you - to keep everyone in this castle safe while maintaining a believable image of wickedness. It's insane, really, to ask it of anyone. But you are so undaunted, Severus, and really rather stubborn. You'd never ask for help, I know. But I am offering it just the same. I am here. I am with you. I am not just your paramour, your little 'girlfriend.' I would be your companion, your confidante, your partner in every way. I would everything that you would have me be."

Severus felt a deep ache in his chest then, a physical pain as she spoke. He had not realized until just now how deeply his sense of solitude ran. Deep into his bones, he was a cloistered, lonely man. It had never bothered him until just now, until he realized that somehow Hermione would have to get back to Gryffindor Tower and that he wouldn't wake with her beside her as he'd done for those weeks at Spinner's End.

She pushed his frock coat from him and he shook it off until it landed with a quiet thump upon the floor, letting her go to work on the buttons on his white shirt. His hands reached up and took her face, and the pads of his thumbs glided under her eyes.

He wasn't sure what exactly to say to her. He wanted to thank her for her support in the awful tasks assigned him; he wanted to accept her offers of help and tell her that she was the most capable ally he could ask for. But somehow the words were lost in his chest when he looked at her face. In her wide amber eyes, though, he could see that she knew. She knew that he loved her, that he was grateful for her. He didn't have to say anything at all, so he didn't. He just leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, softly as he possibly could, and sighed a little.

His shirt was gliding off of his torso, and then he felt her fingers at his waistband, working on the buttons of his trousers. Severus absently kicked off his dragon hide boots and let his fingers drift down Hermione's cheeks until they came to rest upon her shoulders. He gently pushed the cap sleeves of her stretchy nightgown down over her arms and urged the garment downward until it pooled at her feet like liquid. Her small, perfect breasts were bared to him, and he could not stifle the small grunt of want in the back of his throat.

"So beautiful," he murmured against her mouth, once he had the presence of mind to kiss her again. "You're very beautiful."

They moved toward the bed, at one point stumbling mid-kiss so that Severus had to grab Hermione's waist and keep her from falling. He paused and slid his hands around her, one arm tucking beneath her knees while the other cradled her back, and then he lifted her up smoothly into his arms. He was not the most physically strong of men, but Hermione was a small woman. She squealed quietly when he swept her up, and she stared up at him with heat in her brown eyes.

He placed her very gently upon his duvet and hovered above her, returning to the task of kissing her. She tasted like honey, like vanilla and caramel, and he moaned softly when she slipped her tongue around his mouth as if in search of something. His thumbs hooked inside the waistband of her knickers and pulled them slowly down - she lifted her bum to help him - and then he tossed them aside carelessly. He did the same with his own black boxer briefs, revealing his rather insistent erection to her.

Severus thought back to when he'd barrelled into Hermione in his eighteen-year-old body, how he'd only been able to last a few moments with his rapid pace and sensitive organ. Now as he looked down at her smooth skin, kissed by firelight, he wanted to be slow and gentle. He wanted to feel her. He needed it, after a night like tonight.

Perhaps, he thought distantly, nearness to Hermione might help soothe the pain of being The Headmaster Who Turned Hogwarts Into A Dark Arts Academy. He frowned a bit as he lay beside Hermione and rolled her over to arrange her so that she was spooning with him. She sighed contentedly and tucked her body into a comfortable position, as if she were lying on her side to go to sleep. Severus stared down at her for a long moment and reached his slender fingers out to trace the outline of her slightly curving form. Down over her ribcage his fingers drifted, then past her slim waist and the little swell of her hips, and then they trailed off down her thigh until he couldn't reach anymore. She shivered and said softly, "Can… can you perform the _Breviter Sterilitatem_? I haven't my wand, nor the confidence that I can do it wandlessly."

Severus nodded, though she could not see him. As he reached gently around her and rested his palm on her belly, summoning his magic from his solar plexus, he leaned down and kissed the skin beneath her ear. She shuddered again, first at his kiss and then at the dull vibration inside her when his protective spell coursed through her body.

It would not do to put a child in her, of course, for so many reasons Severus couldn't begin to count them. So he put all the force he could into the spell, into protecting her from himself and what his body could do to her.

He kept kissing her neck and drew his hand up to her breast, palming it gently and tweaking her nipple with the calloused pad of his thumb. She whimpered a little and murmured, "Oh! That feels… mmm, Severus."

Her breathless enthusiasm sent a twitch through Severus' cock, which pressed and throbbed against the small of her back. He shifted a little and grunted quietly at the feel of her skin. "I want to please you," he growled smoothly into her ear, his low voice sending a palpable shockwave down her spine as she shivered. He nibbled for a moment on her earlobe and kept massaging her breast, pushing his cock against her back rhythmically. "Tell me how to please you, Hermione."

"Ungh, just…" Her voice had risen in pitch and was soft, panting, as she squirmed against his hand and quivered at the sound of his voice. Severus smirked, adoring his effect on her, and he lathed his tongue down to bite very gently at the skin between her neck and shoulder. Hermione cried out desperately, her own hands gripping the duvet in little fists. "You're doing just fine."

"What about this?" Severus asked, his voice a silky, low grumble as he moved his hand down from her breast to nestle between her thighs. She moaned urgently and nodded frantically and parted her legs a little to make it easier for him to touch her.

Severus' cock was screaming for attention, throbbing and aching almost painfully, and he rubbed it against Hermione's back as his own breath quickened in his nostrils. She was wet already when he snaked his fingertips around her folds, and her swollen entrance grew even more sodden as he stroked her. She arched her back, pushing her bottom against him, and Severus groaned with unquenched thirst.

"Do you like it when I touch you?" he asked, his once-smooth voice becoming throaty and gravelly as his arousal increased. His fingers danced around her clit and curled inside of her, and she nodded frantically again.

"Yes…" she moaned. "I like it."

"Tell me you love me." Severus wasn't sure quite why he said that. He'd been intending to come across as the more dominant sexual partner, the one who had the ability and experience to guide their encounter. But instead he unexpectedly found himself burying his face in her neck, his head spinning as he smelled fresh spring rain on her skin. He growled and pushed his cock against her back and almost spilled himself as her walls clenched around his fingers. He whispered again, "Tell me you love me, Hermione."

She suddenly whirled around, still recovering from her orgasm, and pushed his left shoulder down so that he was lying on his back. She tossed her right leg over his hips quickly and aimed the engorged tip of Severus' member at her sensitive entrance. As she sank down onto him, she stared into his eyes and said deliberately,

"I love you, Severus."

It was almost too much. He wrenched his eyes shut and ground his teeth and hissed, trying desperately not to finish straight away. He tried to ignore the way she was grinding her hips onto him, the way she'd linked her hands with his and was squeezing his fingers and palms for support. He tried not to focus on her gentle, swaying rhythm or the way she was tight and warm and wet around his shaft. But he couldn't tune any of it out, and he said quickly,

"Slow down. Please, Hermione, slow down. It'll be over too soon."

He cracked his eyes and looked up at her, expecting a smirk or a triumphant giggle or perhaps a look of disappointment. But she just nodded solemnly and eased the way the was moving on him, stilling her hips for a long moment to give him a bit of a break. Severus breathed deeply and looked into her eyes - beautiful pools the color of chocolate - and he let out a few rickety breaths.

"What have I done?" he asked shakily, and a look of confused hurt crossed Hermione's lovely face. Severus shook his head, realizing he'd been cryptic, and clarified, "What have I done to possibly deserve this? A witch like you - a masterpiece of a human - with a creature like me? What have I done to earn you?"

"Oh, my prince…" Hermione smiled weakly and began rocking against him again. She started chanting his name as she moved, and she guided his hands up to fondle her breasts. Then it truly was too much, and Severus could not control the way his body exploded with satisfaction. His seed spilled up into her in warm volleys that sent bolts of pleasure through his veins straight to his bones. His ears rang and his cheeks went warm and his head spun, and then a few moments later she was beside him, panting quietly.

"I should go back," she said into the stillness of the room.

"I wish that you would not," Severus admitted, though he knew full well that she must. "But ensure that you Disillusion yourself on the way back to Gryffindor Tower, if you please. I've instructed the Carrows not to use any Unforgivables on you, but it would be best not to push the limits of that command, eh?"

Hermione nodded mutely and rose, pulling on her knickers and yanking her nightgown down over her head. She started to make her way toward the door, and Severus reached for his wand to ward it behind her. Hermione turned back near the doorway and murmured,

"Please remember what I told you. _I'm with you_."

He nodded resolutely and quirked a sad little smirk at her. "You may very well be my only true ally," he affirmed, "but you'll do, Hermione Granger."

She reached for the door handle and smiled peacefully. "Goodnight, Severus." The door opened and then shut behind her. Severus lay back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

"Goodnight, Hermione."


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione stalked as quietly as she could up the corridor to Gryffindor Tower, and when she stood in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, she drew her wand over her body and took off her Disillusionment Charm. She was hesitant to do it, since she was wearing only a nightgown and would have preferred to enter the Common Room still hidden, but that was impossible. One could not enter the Gryffindor Common Room without interacting directly with the Fat Lady. So Hermione watched as the portrait nibbled absently on a tart of some kind, staring out the side of her painted frame. Hermione cleared her throat roughly, and the Fat Lady jerked to attention.

"Oh! I'm sorry, m'dear. Didn't see you there. You came out of nowhere!" She put her tart down and wiped delicately at her plump lips. "Password, dear?"

" _Intrepidity._ " Hermione smiled sadly at the Fat Lady, who nodded kindly and swung open. Hermione climbed awkwardly through the portrait hole and worked her way into the Gryffindor Common Room, feeling her cheeks go hot with embarrassment when she saw Neville and Seamus playing Gobstones in front of the fire. Seamus wolf-whistled at the sight of Hermione in only her coral stretch nightgown, and Hermione scowled. Neville shoved Seamus on the shoulder as if to scold his classmate, but Seamus just let out a low, contrite snort.

"Where've _you_ been wandering about?" Seamus teased Hermione with a crooked grin plastered upon his freckled face. Hermione felt her cheeks grow even hotter, and she stammered,

"I… erm. Nowhere. Goodnight, boys."

She crossed her arms over her torso and hustled out of the Common Room, up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, as she heard the two boys murmuring frantically behind her.

Hermione was about to open the door to the seventh-year dormitory when she saw Ginny Weasley walking down the girls' corridor, her ginger hair wrapped in a towel. She had clearly just come from the showers.

"All right, Ginny?" Hermione greeted the girl hesitantly. Ginny furrowed her red eyebrows.

"Just getting in?"

Hermione frowned. Why did everyone _care_ so much why it was that she was walking about the castle in a nightgown? Why did it matter? She would be eighteen years old in less than two weeks; who were they to go on passing judgment? Besides, she was a Prefect. Hermione ignored Ginny's question and instead asked skeptically,

"How's Ron's spattergroit?" She cocked an eyebrow meaningfully at Ginny, who looked around the corridor carefully and then sidled up to Hermione. She sighed lightly and pulled her terry bathrobe more tightly around her shoulders. She shrugged a little.

"We haven't seen either of the boys since the day of Bill and Fleur's wedding… well, since the day the wedding was supposed to happen, that is. Mum sent them off to one of our Aunt Muriel's house, when everyone scattered. You… you know they burned the Burrow down, don't you?"

Hermione gasped and touched her fingertips to her lips. She shook her head sadly. "No, Ginny. I had no idea."

Ginny nodded solemnly. "No one was there to be injured, but the place is a right pile of ash now. Mum and Dad are staying with Dad's brother in Surrey. Bill and Fleur went to France to get married. I'm honestly not sure where they are now; they weren't back in Britain when I left for school and it's far too risky to try to communicate with anyone from here."

Hermione felt a flush of anxiety ripple through her as Ginny spoke. She gulped and asked, "And when your mum sent Harry and Ron to your aunt's house… what happened then?"

Ginny shrugged helplessly. "Mum went there a few hours later to check in with them, make sure they were all right. Aunt Muriel said she'd not seen hide nor hair of them. We have no idea where they went - they disappeared without a trace."

Hermione felt her mouth drop open in shock. "And… and no one in the Order of the Phoenix is even slightly concerned that _Harry Potter_ has vanished?" she asked rather shrilly. Ginny made a motion to make Hermione calm down, and she sighed,

"Yes, Hermione. People are concerned. They're quite concerned, in fact. Kingsley Shacklebolt was still searching for them when I left for school. But, as I said… I have no way of being in touch with anyone." She paused then, and her already pale face blanched completely. "I shouldn't have told you any of this. Snape's a Legilimens. He'll find out -"

"Ginevra Weasley!" Hermione huffed, "I _told_ you, Severus is on our side. Of course he's going to find out about this, because I'm bloody well going to tell him!"

"Why?" Ginny demanded crossly, and Hermione sighed impatiently,

"So that he can _help_ , Ginny. If Harry and Ron have gone off for the reason I think they have, then they're in great danger. And, honestly, I don't think they have a bloody clue what they're doing! So it's useless for them to have vanished, you see. Dangerous for them, detrimental to the cause. They must be found. Somehow… someone needs to find them."

"And you think if Kingsley Shacklebolt - expert Auror - can't track down two teenaged boys, that Snape will be able do it?" Ginny asked skeptically.

"I think you'd be surprised what Severus is capable of," Hermione clipped, crossing her arms more tightly. Ginny scoffed,

"Oh, no. I won't ever make the mistake of underestimating Severus Snape again. Don't fear about that. I'm not talking about this anymore. I don't know anything else, anyway. Goodnight, Hermione."

She turned on her heel and made her way next door to the sixth-year girls' room. Hermione felt her heart pounding as she said,

"Ginny!"

Ginny paused with her hand on the doorknob and frowned at Hermione, raising an eyebrow expectantly. Hermione said nervously,

"If for _any reason_ you hear from Harry and Ron… please, please have them contact me. I am your friend, your ally. I promise it. I know what they're trying to do, and I know I could help them. But I need them to contact me. Please, if you -"

"Yeah, all right. I'll be sure to pass that message along the very next time they send an owl." Ginny rolled her eyes and opened the door to her dormitory, shutting it rather loudly behind her once she was inside. Hermione sighed heavily and slumped where she stood. Then she opened the door to her own room and slid beneath her duvet, falling into a troubled and uneven sleep.

* * *

"Next slide!"

Alecto Carrow pointed her wand at the magical projector sometimes used by professors, and its mechanisms clicked and whirred and spun until a new image appeared upon the screen. Hermione suppressed a gasp when she saw the image before her.

It was a child, the thinnest and most pitiful creature Hermione had ever seen. The child was clearly starving, emaciated almost to the point of death. The boy - or was it a girl? - sat nude, ribs jutting out visibly, with stick-thin limbs curled up protectively. A festering wound rotted on the child's face, and flies buzzed round it hungrily. Hermione heard Lavender Brown let out a horrified moan a few desks over. She could scarcely blame the girl; the image was incredibly disturbing.

"This," Alecto Carrow said shortly, gesturing up to the slide with her wand as a rather smug look crossed her plump face, "This is a starving Muggle child. Does starvation exist in the Magical community? No. It does not. Why is that? Even with Gamp's Laws, we would never starve. We can multiply existing food, or change food to be more nutritious. There is almost no scenario in which a large community of witches and wizards would be faced with mass starvation. And, yet, there are innumerable examples throughout Muggle history of famine, of these beasts letting their own kind wither and die for lack of food."

"Professor Carrow?" Seamus Finnigan said, and Hermione turned round to see him glaring rather pointedly at Alecto, "You make it sound as though Muggles _mean_ to let one another starve. I mean, maybe sometimes they do, and maybe sometimes Muggle famines are the result of careless policy, like the Irish Potato Famine."

Hermione was impressed; she'd never heard Seamus speak so eloquently on a subject. Her anger about his wolf-whistle the night before vanished as he continued passionately,

"But, Professor, I think - forgive me, but I do believe - it is important to remember the good, too. Just a few years ago, American Muggle troops were killed in Mogadishu trying to get food to starving people there…"

Alecto Carrow's eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. "Yes," she said mockingly, "Those Muggle soldiers were _murdered_ by other Muggles. They were trying to help! Trying to deliver food. And they were dragged through the streets and had their bodies strung up. Mercy, Mr. Finnigan, is a foolish concept. Almost as foolish as believing that anything at all can override the stupidity and wickedness of Muggles. They are the enemy!" She raised her voice now, stalking round the front of the classroom purposefully. "Muggles have spent thousands of years butchering one another, for what reason? To what end? To gain land, to gain money, to gain political power."

 _Sounds awfully familiar to me,_ Hermione thought crossly, pinching her lips shut and feeling her eyes burn a bit as she thought of Voldemort.

"But these idiot Muggles are ignorant to the means of protecting themselves against their own evil natures! Look! Look at this child!" She was almost shrieking now as she jabbed her wand hard against the projector screen, making it ripple. She bared her teeth at the class before her and declared, "This child _died_ because of Muggle folly! Muggle villainy!"

"That's not to say wizards aren't prone to folly and villainy," Hermione heard Seamus mumble angrily behind her, and she smirked a little down at her desk. But then Alecto Carrow came striding quickly down the center aisle and pointed the tip of her wand in Seamus' face.

"What did you say to me, boy?" she demanded, and Hermione watched, horrified, as Seamus swallowed heavily. Beside him, Neville Longbottom whispered,

"Let it go, Seamus."

"Keep your mouth shut, Longbottom!" Alecto Carrow hissed furiously, now pointing her wand toward Neville. There was a sudden sizzle of electricity in the room as all the other students went tense, watching fearfully. Hermione wanted to say something, to make it all stop, but she knew she couldn't. Seamus squared his jaw. His cheeks flushed pink, and he said softly,

"Just think it's a bit hypocritical, is all. Saying Muggles have done evil and wizards haven't."

"That is quite enough out of you!" Alecto growled, sounding quite unladylike as she shook with rage. She turned her wand and opened her mouth, and Hermione suddenly realized she was going to cast some terrible curse at Seamus.

As quickly as she could, Hermione shut her eyes and called forth all the magic in her body to her throat. She whipped it into a white ball of fire inside of her and whipped it forth at Alecto as she thought, ' _Confundo!'_

She opened her eyes and saw Alecto shuddering and blinky heavily. Then she unexpectedly lowered her wand and visibly relaxed before she said, "Twenty points from Gryffindor. Keep your mouth shut the rest of the lesson, Mr. Finnigan, or it shall be detention. You understand?"

Seamus looked baffled, for he, too, seemed to have sensed that he was about to be cursed. But he just nodded quickly and pursed his lips as Alecto walked back to the front of the class.

* * *

Severus rather wished he had chosen a better day to walk all the way to Hogsmeade. It was raining far more heavily than he liked. He pulled on an oilskin cloak and yanked the hood up over his hair, stalking like a wraith over the Hogwarts grounds down the hill and into the glen that led to Hogsmeade.

He padded softly through the quiet High Street. These days, with all the changes in wizarding society, there wasn't much merrymaking in the pubs, nor casual shopping happening. The students at Hogwarts were all in lessons, and so their professors were occupied, as well. The place was a bit of a ghost town, and it unnerved Severus more than he cared to admit.

He stood in the threshold of a desolate-looking store, glancing up at the flaking painted sign overhead.

" _Tomes and Scrolls. Specialist Bookshop since 1768._ "

Severus sighed and pushed his way through the front door, shaking rain off of his oilskin cloak on the mat just inside and stomping his dragon-hide boots lightly.

"Good afternoon, Headmaster."

Severus glanced up to see Othello Copperfield, the current proprietor of the bookshop, carefully filing rare editions of books into his shelves. The man nodded in solemn greeting to Severus. His hair, just starting to gray, curled about his head like a mousy sort of halo, and his hazel eyes shone warmly in the light from the fireplace at the end of the room.

Severus nodded in return, pulling his hood off of his head and unbuttoning his soaking wet cloak. He hung it on a hook near the doorway and stalked to the front desk, behind which Othello Copperfield had scurried. He was now rummaging beneath the cabinets and made a little grunt as he pulled up a very heavy, ancient-looking book and set it very carefully upon his worn wooden desk.

"Here it is," Copperfield said to Severus, gesturing down at the book proudly. "Took me more than a little effort to get it, I'll admit. It's difficult enough to track down rare books made _after_ the invention of the printing press, but this one? All handmade. Work of art. I'm terribly impressed it's survived almost seven hundred years, though it's probably charmed to protect it. You'll… you'll take good care of it, won't you?"

Severus quirked up the corner of his mouth when he saw how Copperfield suddenly became anxious and protective of the ancient book. Severus nodded. "It isn't for me. It's a gift," he conceded. "A birthday gift. But I assure you, the owner has rather a penchant for books. It will be well loved."

He looked down at the heavy cover, thick leather decorated with paint in shimmering gold and vibrant colors that seemed almost untouched by the centuries. The title was scripted in stocky blackletter.

 _Ende ofe Deth._

Looking past the Medieval spelling construction, Severus murmured, "End of death," more to himself than to Othello Copperfield, though the other man grunted in assent.

"Strange book," he admitted. "I admit I know nothing of its contents, and I opened it and found myself quite unable to make sense of much of the Middle English. But what I was able to discern showed me a very dark text on the nature of death, and indirectly on the nature of life. This books seems… dangerous, Headmaster."

"It's certainly not anything we would keep in the Hogwarts library," Severus acknowledged, cocking an eyebrow with feigned boredom. He carefully opened the cover, being exceptionally gentle with the binding as he turned the vellum pages. The calligraphy was lovely but difficult to read. The margins were filled with illustrations that alternated between the utterly macabre (piles of rotting victims of the Black Death) and the hopeful (a page whose border was being eaten alive by a vine of vibrant flowers). Even Severus could make little sense of the seemingly random spelling and syntax; he hoped Hermione would be able to understand more of it.

" _Whan at longe last the youngerest of brethren had reched hys olden age, he tok offe the Cloake whych did Conceale him all that muche tyme…_ "

Severus flicked his eyes down the page, over a strange symbol he did not recognize, beyond an illustration of a man placing a cloak over the shoulders of a young boy. Beneath that, he struggled to make out the confusingly-spelled words,

" _Than did he greete Deth, commen olde frynds."_

Severus shut the book carefully and sighed lightly, reaching into his frock coat and extracting a small drawstring bag he'd charmed to hold more coins than its size would normally allow. He poured forth gold Galleons onto the desk. This book did not come cheaply. Severus had little wealth to his name, but he was also a terribly frugal man. The rare splurge on something like this did not dent his needed income. Still, even he flinched as he saw the dozens and dozens of coins pouring forth from the little velvet bag.

Othello Copperfield began counting the coins and then put them away behind his counter, nodding curtly at Severus, who was in the process of charming the book to waterproof it against the rain outside.

"Might I ask," Copperfield said carefully, "why it is you needed this particular book? If I may say, Headmaster… it seems a bit odd for a birthday gift."

"It came highly recommended," Severus gave Copperfield a meaningful scowl that effectively ended the conversation.

Of course it was an odd birthday gift, but Hermione Granger was not exactly the sort of girl one gifted flowers and chocolates. She would thoroughly enjoy exploring the one-of-a-kind, ancient book, he knew. Besides, he'd scarcely had any choice in the matter. Dumbledore's portrait had properly insisted that Severus track down this book and give it to Hermione, though the portrait would give few details beyond that simple order. Severus picked the book up off the counter and walked over to put his oilskin cloak back on.

"I shall appreciate your discretion, Mr. Copperfield," Severus said to the shopkeeper, "as always."

He nodded once and pulled his hood back up and made his way back out into the pounding rain.

* * *

The morning of Hermione's birthday dawned with brilliant, warm sunlight leaking through the diamond panes of the Gryffindor girls' dormitory. She cracked open her eyes and sighed a little, realizing that she was eighteen today and her parents had no idea at all. They were in Australia, probably, and would have no recollection of her existence, much less that it was her birthday.

Hermione dressed in silence, shooting occasional glances toward her fellow seventh-year Gryffindor girls. Finally, she heard Parvati ask,

"Oh… it's your birthday today, isn't it, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded, flicking up her eyebrows and smiling sadly. Lavender Brown exclaimed,

"Oh! I had no idea. Happy birthday, Hermione!"

But they said nothing else, and that was all Hermione heard of it until breakfast. She sat alone, like she always did, and thumbed through a book on augureys as she ate some porridge. She looked up to Severus, but he, too, was reading and didn't spare her a glance. Hermione's stomach sank a bit at the way he ignored her; had he forgotten her birthday entirely?

A little owl flitted into the Great Hall and landed on the table before Hermione, a small note tied to its foot. Hermione frowned and took the note off, patting the owl's back and sending it on its way. She broke the dark green wax seal and read the note, wondering who had sent her a birthday note. Her parents had forgotten her and Harry and Ron were in hiding. Who could possibly care enough to write?

" _H, Happy birthday. Oraverit at eight this evening. - S."_

She quirked up the corner of her lips and felt her heart start racing in her chest as she folded the note and pressed it between her palms happily. She glanced back up to the Staff Table, to where Severus sat in the great Headmaster's chair, but he was still chewing an apple and reading a book resolutely. Hermione's smile broadened and she tucked the note away.

"Happy birthday, Hermione!"

She glanced up to see Luna Lovegood standing before her, holding out a knife. Hermione gasped and recoiled, her eyes going wide with fear. Luna smiled serenely and turned the dagger so that the handle was facing Hermione.

"It's a Wyvern Dagger," she explained kindly, and Hermione took the weapon cautiously, examining it with a little nod as she struggled to steady her fearful breath. The curved, jagged blade looked as though it was made from mother-of-pearl, and the handle was in the shape of the dragon-like wyvern. Luna continued, "The blade is made from a wyvern scale, while the handle is crafted from sand blasted by wyvern fire. The dagger has all sorts of magical properties; it's especially useful for potions-making! I thought you might find it helpful someday! Or perhaps Professor Snape might. Either way." The wispy blonde girl shrugged unassumingly.

"Oh! Erm… thank you very much, Luna!" Hermione smiled warmly up at her friend before tucking the dagger into her school bag. "That's very kind of you." She did not ask where Luna had acquired such an object… sometimes it was better not to know.

* * *

The third-floor Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom had undergone many changes in the years since Hermione had begun as a student at Hogwarts, but it had never looked quite so bleak as it did now. Amycus Carrow's very presence gave the place something of an aura of dread, and as Hermione walked in to lessons, her good birthday moon abruptly dissipated.

She sat alone at a desk and took out her textbook, staring down at the cover and pinching her lips.

 _The Dark Arts: Mysterious Means To An End._

The course no longer was truly 'defense' against much of anything. It really was now how simply 'The Dark Arts,' in Hermione's opinion. The situation was made worse by the fact that the Gryffindors had to study with the Slytherins, many of whom were the children of noted Death Eaters and were already well-versed in the Dark Arts.

Amycus Carrow stalked into the classroom and it went quiet at once, all conversation going hush as the hulking wizard walked ungracefully up to the front of the room.

"If one wishes to defend oneself against the Dark Arts," he said without any pretense, "then it is imperative that one be able to _use_ the Dark Arts. Today we will be duelling. There will be no silly bowing. Get up and find a partner - Gryffindors versus Slytherins. Boys, find a girl. Hurry up."

Hermione scowled. She was meant to duel against a male Slytherin? On her birthday, of all days? This was going to be awful.

She stood and glanced around, feeling something akin to abject panic as she noticed people reluctantly pairing off.

"Let's go, Granger."

Hermione frowned deeply, turning round to see Blaise Zabini flicking a bored gesture toward her with the tip of his wand. She would have protested, but she had no better option than Blaise, so she sighed heavily and ambled to face the boy. He was the wealthy son of a beautiful witch, a serial widow who had inherited fortunes from her many dead husbands. Blaise himself was good-looking but prickish in personality, and Hermione disliked him immensely. She stood opposite him and turned down her lips, waiting for instruction from Amycus Carrow as Blaise crossed his arms and looked disinterested.

"Only rule is no Unforgivables today," Amycus said, and Hermione felt her eyes go wide with shock that anything else was to be permitted. Amycus flicked his hand up and said, "Go ahead."

Hermione's lips parted as she prepared to protest, but then she heard Blaise Zabini cry out, " _Mutatio skullus!"_

Hermione acted quickly, throwing up her wand and glaring at Blaise. A bright, transparent blue buffer appeared instantly when she cast her nonverbal Shield Charm, and Blaise's hex bounced off and dissolved into the air. He scowled and huffed. Hermione instantly thought, " _Tarantallegra!"_

Green light shot from the tip of her wand and jolted into Blaise Zabini's legs, which instantly began to dance uncontrollably. He burst into an odd, arrhythmic sort of jig, glaring down at his own feet and then back up at Hermione in horror. He pointed his wand at his legs and murmured, " _Finite incantatem,"_ and the dancing stopped.

He scowled at Hermione again, but before he could raise his wand, Hermione pointed her own at him and thought, " _Langlock._ "

Blaise's eyes went wide with alarm as he tried to open his mouth, and Hermione knew her jinx had worked properly. The Langlock spell worked to affix one's tongue to the roof of his or her mouth, thus preventing one from speaking (or incanting a spell in a duel). Hermione decided to beat Blaise once and for all, so she narrowed her eyes and said aloud, " _Oppugno!_ "

She drew her wand across several desks and then back toward Blaise. About seven or eight textbooks flew off of the desks and began attacking Blaise, their covers slamming into his shoulders and face and chest as their pages flicked around him. He batted desperately at the books and moaned, his tongue still plastered to the roof of his mouth helplessly.

Hermione stood where she was and crossed her arms triumphantly. The rest of the class was watching in awe. She had clearly won the duel. Amycus Carrow smirked at the pair from the front of the classroom and jabbed his wand at Blaise Zabini, murmuring an incantation to free the boy from his torment. The books flew back to the desks and Blaise panted as his tongue was liberated.

"Granger, you bitch!" Blaise cried out, looking embarrassed. Hermione's mouth flew open and she looked up to Amycus Carrow expectantly, waiting for the professor to take points from Blaise for his disrespectful behavior. But, of course, the teacher had been a Slytherin, too. Like Severus, he was loathe to punish his own house. Hermione frowned hotly as Amycus merely turned away and began observing Neville and Pansy Parkinson. Neville was losing miserably.

Hermione beat Blaise thrice more before the end of lessons, not taking a scratch herself. She found herself getting more and more angry with Blaise as the lesson went on, and her spells reflected that. She put antlers on his head, and then pimples on his face. She used a charged-up Knockback Jinx that sent the boy flying roughly against the far wall. By the end of the lesson, she'd Stupefied him into unconsciousness.

Hermione did not like using Dark Magic like this. It was not fun. It made her angry, and today was her birthday. She did not like having enemies. But she admitted, at least to herself, that it made her feel powerful to defeat Blaise Zabini over and over again. He was mean to her; he condescended to her even though she was more accomplished than him. And so the tiniest part of her took a modicum of pleasure in seeing him succumb to her hexes and jinxes. She could not help it.

Her heart was racing and her blood boiling when she left Classroom 3C, and with a twinge of regret, she realized that was precisely how Amycus Carrow wanted her to feel.

* * *

Severus paced back and forth in front of his fireplace and glanced up at the clock upon his mantle. Seven fifty-three.

He looked in his mirror and checked that his cravat was straight. It was. He checked to ensure that his hair didn't look a mess. It was fine. He sighed and paced some more, wringing his hands behind his back.

He had not been alone with Hermione since the beginning of term weeks earlier. They simply had not wished to risk it. It was always far too difficult to imagine getting Hermione back up into Gryffindor Tower undetected.

Tonight, Severus did not much care how Hermione got back up there, or if she even did. He very much wanted her to stay down here, with him. The past few weeks had been agony in far more ways than one. His patience had been challenged by both the Carrows and by Dumbledore's portrait. The Carrows had been pushing how far they could go by torturing students who misbehaved, and Severus had been trying to protect the children without being obvious about it. Meanwhile, Dumbledore's portrait had been cryptically attempting to give Severus advice and guidance - all unsolicited. Severus just wanted quiet, and rest, and peace. He just wanted to sleep, with Hermione beside him, for one blissful night. Was that too much to ask?

And now it was her birthday, and he'd sent an owl down from the owlery to her at breakfast to ask her to come to him at eight. That was seven minutes from now. She was always punctual, even early. So he was pacing, waiting for her, feeling anxious. The ancient copy of _Ende of Deth_ sat wrapped upon the small table beside his armchair, along with another small gift and a plate full of French macarons he'd procured for her at Honeydukes this afternoon. He knew she enjoyed them.

He looked back up to the clock. Seven fifty-four.

Severus sighed heavily and willed time to move more quickly. He flicked on the radio with a jab of his wand, but immediately turned it back on when he heard the terrible sound of Dolores' Umbridge's twittering voice instead of music. With a frustrated growl, Severus sank into his armchair and stared into the fireplace, listening to the ticking of the clock on the mantle and wishing the minutes would move along.

Then there was a little _pop_ from behind him, and he quickly stood back up to see Hermione standing before him, swaying dizzily in a pretty ivory-colored sundress. Her hair hung loosely about her shoulders in neatly-done curls, and her lips were darkened with a bit of color. She smelled like rain, and Severus felt a curling of love for her at once. He cleared his throat.

"You're early."

She smiled a little and said knowingly, "I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind."

"No, indeed not." Severus held out his hand to beckon her nearer him. "Happy birthday, Hermione."

"Thank you." She grinned then when she saw the macarons. "Are those for me?"

Severus nodded rather nervously. Hermione reached for one, pale green, and held it up. "Pistachio? Mmm!" She popped it into her mouth and chewed happily, bouncing merrily up and down upon her feet and clapping her hands lightly. "Thank you!"

There were over a dozen flavors there, from rosewater to chestnut, bergamot and orange blossom. But when Hermione leaned up and kissed Severus to thank him, he tasted the pistachio from the one she'd just eaten, and he thought that one tasted just fine.

"Come sit," he said softly, pulling away from her. "I've another gift for you."

"Oh, Severus…" she murmured against his lips, "you can't imagine what it means to me that you've actually remembered my birthday. All day I've been rather sad, you see… because of my parents, and…"

"Let's not speak of that, then," Severus said firmly, hoping distantly that he wasn't hurting her feelings with his cold insistence. But he had other things to focus on tonight with her. He took her elbow and guided her into a chair, thrusting the large, heavy wrapped book into her lap. She furrowed her thick eyebrows down at the shiny silver paper and the dark green velvet ribbon.

"Nice Slytherin wrapping," she teased, and Severus shrugged.

"I thought it looked fine."

She grinned crookedly and tore at the ribbon and then at the paper, and a little gasp came from between her lips as she took in the illuminated cover of the book. Severus felt anxiety ripple through him as he waited for her approval.

"Oh, goodness…" Hermione whispered in wonder, tracing her fingers carefully over the cover and the spine of the text. She looked up at Severus, her eyes swimming with tears. Severus relaxed a little as he realized she was pleased. Hermione opened the book and began reading from a few of the vellum pages. "'Hadde with hem a cloake to hyde hem from enemys... '"She turned a few pages. "'Hadde the seconde brouthre the stoune, whyche raysed ded to lyfe...' Oh, my, Severus. This is absolutely fascinating. Look, here. Look at this passage. 'Then dyd the eldeste brouthre aske for, a Wande whyche deth hath conquered. Than unto hem was geven the Elder Wande.'"

Hermione panted a little with excitement and shut the book. She parted her lips and looked up at Severus, enthralled. "Thank you, Severus. Truly."

Severus, for his part, found himself furrowing his eyebrows. Hearing her read aloud from the book, he realized how familiar it sounded. "Do you know," he said, "Dumbledore's portrait told me to buy it for you. It is one-of-a-kind, obviously… though, the tale it tells is awfully familiar." He rose from his chair and strode to the bookshelf, pulling off a small, worn tome, flicking through it and handing it to Hermione. "Here. See?"

Hermione turned the book to see the cover. " _The Tales of Beedle the Bard?"_ she asked. "What is this?"

"Wizarding fairy tales, of sorts," Severus said. "Most half-blood and pureblood children know them by heart. Why Dumbledore - or his portrait - found it necessary for you to hear the story from an eight hundred year old version, I do not know."

Hermione scowled, reading quickly through the modern version of "The Tale of The Three Brothers." Then she turned back to the ancient book, _Ende of Death,_ and started examining it closely. She finally turned back to Severus and asked cautiously,

"They aren't real, are they?"

"What… the stone, the cloak, and the wand?" Severus cocked an eyebrow. Hermione nodded. Severus shook his head vigorously. "No. Of course not. It's just a story."

"But Harry has an Invisibility Cloak," Hermione insisted. "So why couldn't the Elder Wand be real? Or the Resurrection Stone?" Severus considered this for a moment. Before he could say anything, Hermione continued, "Also, look here… on the inside cover of _Ende of Deth,_ it says it's written by Avice Peverelle. In _The Tales of Beedle the Bard,_ the brothers' surname is 'Peverell.' Couldn't this be a medieval spelling of the name? Perhaps it's a granddaughter? A relative of the real brothers?"

"There are no real brothers, Hermione. It's a myth," Severus insisted, but Hermione pursed her lips and sighed.  
"Dumbledore wanted me to have the old book for a reason," she said firmly. "Otherwise he would have simply told me to read _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._ "

Severus was properly cross with Dumbledore - or at least with his portrait - now. He'd wanted to have a nice, romantic evening with Hermione to celebrate her birthday, and here it had turned into a night of contemplative studiousness.

He reached down and took the books from her lap, closing them carefully and setting them on the mantle. "Enough of all that," Severus said rather firmly, and Hermione smiled sadly up at him. He took the small, silver-wrapped box from the side table and held it out to Hermione. "Last gift. Happiest of birthdays to you."

She bit her lip playfully at him and pulled on the ribbon before tearing at the paper. Suddenly Severus was overcome with an acute flood of anxiety, and he swallowed heavily as he fought to stay standing.

* * *

Hermione squealed happily when she opened the small brown box. Inside, nestled in a velvet cushion, was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she'd ever seen. It was a rose gold ring with an oval emerald surrounded by tiny shimmering diamonds. It looked properly vintage, and Hermione marveled at the craftsmanship that had clearly gone into making it. She took it out of the velvet case and turned it over and over in her fingers, examining it closely with a broad smile on her face.

"Severus…" she hummed, "It's absolutely beautiful…"

She raised her eyes to look up at him, but he wasn't there. With a gasp of surprise, Hermione lowered her eyes to see that Severus had lowered himself to genuflect before her and was staring intently at her as he rested upon one knee.

"Severus," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper as her stomach suddenly flip-flopped, "Why are you kneeling?"

She watched his Adam's Apple bob heavily, watched his thin lips pinch together resolutely, and then heard him say, "Hermione Jean Granger, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever had the pleasure to lay my eyes upon. But far more importantly than that, you are the most intelligent human being with whom I have been privileged enough to interact. I desire nothing more for the rest of my days than to be with you. There would be no greater honor in my life than to be your husband. Right now, we live in a world of distinct uncertainty. Tomorrow is a whisper that may not come to pass. I have no idea how long I might live. But I do know that I have no desire to live a single day more without you by my side. Please, Miss Granger, will you marry me?"

Hermione felt weak all of a sudden, as though she would slump right where she sat and faint. She couldn't breathe, much less speak.

Severus gently took the ring from her hands and held it thoughtfully in his own for a moment. Then he raised his smoky black eyes to hers and asked quietly, "May I?" as he lowered the ring to her left hand. Hermione nodded minutely, wordlessly. Severus took her hand delicately and slipped the ring onto her finger, the tiniest of smiles crossing his thin lips when the ring fit her perfectly. He pushed himself up to stand, rather shakily, and adjusted his frock coat. He extended his palm to her and invited her to stand with him. Hermione tried to swallow and silently rose, staring first at his sternum and then up into his eyes, which had suddenly become the most beautiful thing in all the world.

"I love you," he said softly, "very much indeed. I don't ever want to lose you, you understand?"

Hermione nodded silently. Severus leaned down to press his lips gently against hers, and he felt warmer than he'd ever felt before as his palm pressed the small of her back to his body.

"It doesn't have to be now," he murmured against her lips. "Just promise me you'll be my wife."

"I promise," Hermione whispered, finding her voice at last and then losing it once more as he kissed her fiercely. Some distant part of her mind decided that this had, after all, been a very fine birthday.

* * *

Severus awoke sometime in the middle of the night to see that the fire in his fireplace had nearly burned out. He blinked his eyes a few times to adjust to the dim light and squinted over to the mantle clock. Four twenty.

He sighed lightly and turned his face. Hermione lay beside him on her back, her chest rising and falling peacefully in sleep. She had come in a dress, which she'd shed hours earlier in favor of one of Severus' white dress shirts, buttoned up to her belly button. The gentle swell of her breasts was visible in the open part of the shirt, and Severus swallowed heavily at the sight of her womanly beauty. Her left arm was cast up onto the pillow, and Severus flicked his eyes to the finger where her emerald ring glittered.

Her caramel curls tumbled around her angelic face like a messy halo, and her comforting aroma of spring rain emanated gently from her. Severus pushed himself up onto one elbow and found himself staring at her as she slept, taking in every inch of her that he could see and furrowing his brows a little as he wondered again how exactly he'd come to have her in his bed.

She was beautiful, he thought, almost achingly so. She'd grown into a powerful, elegant, charming young woman. It would have been impossible for him to spend any measurable amount of time with her alone and not fall in love. It was luck, plain and simple, that she cared for him in return.

Severus' fingertips reached out in the darkness and hovered over the exquisite swell of Hermione's breasts, where they curved beneath the white material of the shirt she'd borrowed from him for bed. He suppressed a sound of want as he felt his cock start to harden. The mere sight of her, beautiful and peaceful in sleep, was enough to arouse him. Severus lay back down on his side and retracted his hand, shutting his eyes and trying to go back to sleep.

But he couldn't, because he knew she was there, just inches away from him, looking lovely and serene. Even as he wrenched his eyes more tightly shut, his hand drifted unwillingly under the waistband of his gray flannel pants and fondled his half-hard member a bit. He stiffened at his own touch, and it got worse when he pictured Hermione in his mind.

He replayed the moment he'd slipped the emerald ring onto her finger, heard the way she'd promised to be his wife, felt the way she'd kissed him fiercely. His hand moved on his cock, up and down his shaft and over his tip, as he thought blissfully that she was to marry him, and he rolled onto his own back with his eyes still firmly shut.

 _Stop it, Severus. You're disgusting, touching yourself like this while she's here. You've just asked the poor girl to marry you and now you masturbate while she sleeps beside you? Pig._

But he couldn't stop, not when he opened his eyes and saw her partially-revealed breasts in his opened white shirt, her swan-like neck with her pulse flickering in the firelight. A low groan gurgled forth from the back of Severus' throat and he yanked down his flannel pants enough to free his cock, stroking himself a bit more firmly.

His eyes locked on her beautiful form and he felt revolted with himself as he trailed his calloused fingers over his throbbing length and gently massaged his balls. He realized with a start of panic that he was going to finish, here in bed beside her, and thought he ought to stand up and go somewhere else, like the bathroom. The least he could do was to not be so perverted as to give himself complete pleasure next to her while she slept.

But he found himself completely unable to wrench his hand from himself, or his eyes from her, and her name started tumbling softly from his lips.

" _Ungh…_ Hermione," he whispered hoarsely, driving his head against his pillow and bucking his hips up into his hand a bit as he imagined suckling roughly on Hermione's breast. "Hermione…"

Suddenly her chestnut eyes fluttered open, and Severus' hand went still. Hermione, groggy with sleep, drew her gaze up and down Severus' body and quickly realized what was happening, and then a flash of understanding came over her amber eyes. Severus' cock softened a bit immediately as he clutched himself, humiliated. His hand flew away and he tried not to look at her, stammering,

"Erm… I'm - I'm sorry, I -"

"Come here, Severus," Hermione murmured, her voice wobbly with fatigue. Severus watched in amazement as her hands hooked under her cotton knickers and shoved them down, and she licked her fingertips and rubbed between her legs to wet herself. She parted her knees invitingly and gave Severus an inviting stare. Severus hesitated.

"I dont… Hermione, forgive me. I did not mean to wake you. It's only that I was quite struck by your beauty when I woke up, and before I could control myself, I was - well, in any case, I shall put it away and we can go back to sleep. You should rest. I've been a scoundrel, and I apologize."

He was babbling, he knew, and he felt his cheeks go hot with embarrassment, but then Hermione smirked at him and reached out to wrap her fingertip around his cock and stroke gently. Severus let out a little choked sound and let his eyes shut gently, sighly shakily as he heard Hermione repeat,

"I said, 'Come here, Severus.'"

So he did, moving to hover above her and casting a quick Sterilization Charm upon her with the wand he grabbed hastily from the bedside table. He pushed into her gently and his eyes met hers as he rocked slowly into her. Her little hands held fast to his trim upper arms, and Severus felt a shiver go down his spine when Hermione whispered,

"I'm going to marry you."

He just nodded and leaned down to place a soft kiss on her forehead. "You're going to marry me," he affirmed, his low voice smooth as silk.

They moved together for a long time, and after a while Hermione shuddered beneath him in a gentle, quiet, but seemingly pleasurable climax. Severus spilled himself a while later, leaning down and burrowing his face into Hermione's neck as he gritted his teeth.

"You're mine," he growled quietly, planting kisses on her dewy skin, and he felt her shiver and nod. He gave one last thrust of his hips and said firmly, "I love you, Hermione."

He wanted to lay down upon his back and pull Hermione snugly against his chest. He wanted to kiss her languorously and whisper to her how beautiful she was. But he didn't have a chance to do any of that, because all of a sudden his left forearm started burning furiously.

* * *

Severus could not imagine that being summoned at nearly five in the morning could possibly mean anything good. As he stalked up to Malfoy Manor and flicked his wand to open the iron gate, a stake of dread worked its way through his body. Dawn was breaking, but it was grey and dreary, and bore no hope at all today.

Severus thought perhaps he ought to knock upon the front door of the house, given the circumstances, and so he did. The door was opened by Bellatrix Lestrange, who looked even more triumphant than usual. She smirked at Severus and said,

"Oh, Snape. Just in time. Do come in; the Dark Lord is itching to see you."

She stalked into the house and beckoned for Severus to follow her. He did, feeling a stab of unease as he did. The house was eerily quiet, and as Severus followed Bellatrix up the familiar stone staircase, he vaguely wondered why it was that he heard no sounds at all. Then they stepped into the dining room, and Severus froze in the doorway when he saw who was seated around the table.

At the head of the table, as usual, was Voldemort, with the snake Nagini curled faithfully around his feet. He was fingering his knobbly wand with a bored expression upon his face. Beside him, looking haggard and tired, were Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, and beside them was Draco. Severus felt a pang of worry that the boy was not at school, that he'd snuck out to the Apparition Point even earlier than Severus had done. Across from the Malfoys sat Yaxley and Dolores Umbridge, the latter in a typical hideous bubblegum-pink tweed ensemble.

And farther down the table, looking exhausted and mangled, was the lanky, red-headed frame of Ronald Weasley.

Severus took a brief moment to collect himself, to steel his face and to throw up his mental blocks. He stalked into the room as smoothly as silk and flicked his eyes down toward Weasley as he murmured,

"Good morning, My Lord."

"Sit, Severus." Voldemort sounded somewhat perturbed as he gestured gracefully to an empty seat between Yaxley and Weasley. Severus pulled out the chair and sank down, flicking his black robes out behind him. He avoided the gaze of Ronald Weasley, though the boy was staring straight ahead as if he'd been tortured for hours. He probably _had_ been tortured for hours, Severus considered. Across the table, Draco Malfoy looked rather nauseated.

"I apologize for undoubtedly taking you from bed," Voldemort said, though he did not sound terribly sorry. Severus shook his head dismissively, and Voldemort continued, "You see, Severus, last evening Madam Umbridge and Yaxley here were hard at work at the Ministry. Then they… well, Dolores, dear, why don't you explain?"

Severus tried not to curl his lip up as he watched Dolores Umbridge simper a little smile at Voldemort. "Of course, My Lord," she said. Then she turned to Severus. " _Hem-hem._ I was just finishing up several hearings on Muggle-born magic theft, and was returning to my office, when I apprehended _this one_ in the corridor!" She jabbed an accusatory finger at Ron Weasley. "He was Disillusioned, though very poorly so, and I could see there was someone there moving. I uncovered him and recognized him at once from my days as Headmistress. I knew him to be the accomplice of Harry Potter, and we began a search immediately for Potter, but were unable to find him. I brought Weasley back to The Dark Lord for… _questioning_ … but he refuses to divulge Potter's location."

"Hm." Severus cocked an eyebrow and frowned at Voldemort. "My Lord, forgive me, but did you not simply apply Legilimency to the boy?"

"Of course I did, Severus," Voldemort hissed, sounding affronted. "All I could see was a rickety old house. I've no clue where it is. I've tried to determine more details, but _Bella_ here went a bit overboard with the Cruciatus…" Voldemort scowled at Bellatrix, who stood beyond the dining room table. She cowered a little as Voldemort continued, "and the boy's mind is hazy. He gives me only the briefest flashes and will not speak for the time being."

Severus dragged the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip and sniffed lightly. He furrowed his brow and asked Voldemort, "What might I do, then, My Lord, to be of assistance? Why, may I ask, am I here?"

"You are to look in his mind yourself, Severus. You know the boy better than I do. Use your own Legilimency skills and, since you've a better handle on how to sort through his useless thoughts, see if you might sort out where Potter is, eh?"

"Of course, My Lord." Severus felt a pang of anxiety as he turned to Weasley and cleared his throat to get the boy's attention. Ron Weasley's normally glittering eyes stared straight ahead, dull and glassy, and his mouth hung agape. Severus cleared his throat again, more roughly this time, and Weasley finally dragged his eyes up to him. As soon as he did, Severus thought, " _Legilimens!"_

 _Fred and George Weasley setting of a minor explosion in their bedroom at the Burrow. Potter and Ron Weasley playing Gobstones as second-years in the Gryffindor Common Room, crashing a Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow and being berated by Severus himself for it. Hermione's face, older now and beautiful, as they all strolled back from Hogsmeade in the rain._

Severus scowled to himself and focused, flipping through the boy's head and searching harder.

 _Apparating, squeezing and pinching. Landing in the street in front of No 12 Grimmauld Place. Inside, speaking with Kreacher, then Mundungus Fletcher._

' _A vile woman, looked like a toad… she took it from me,' Dung Fletcher was saying, and there was a sudden word that popped into the stream of consciousness: 'Locket. Locket. Locket.'_

 _Grimmauld Place again, discussing with Potter how to sneak into the Ministry of Magic. Then sneaking about the corridor around Umbridge's office, poorly Disillusioned, while Potter used his father's Invisibility Cloak in another part of the building. Searching. Searching for the locket. Grimmauld Place. Potter inside Grimmauld Place._

Severus withdrew quickly from Weasley's mind and coughed a little from the effort of Legilimency. He watched as Weasley's head collapsed dizzily onto the dining room table, and he heard Bellatrix giggle cruelly. Weasley moaned groggily.

"Well?" Voldemort asked in a clip. "What did you see?"

Severus sucked in breath and folded his hands neatly upon the table. He turned to Voldemort and pulled up one shoulder in a sort of half-hearted shrug. "My Lord, the boy is as useless as ever, I'm afraid. They are clearly hiding in an abandoned house of some sort… I did get the sense it was in London. Muggle, perhaps? I could see that Potter was at the Ministry, as well, also hidden. I watched the pair of them Apparate away from the Weasley home the day it was burned down. They landed on a street in London."

None of that was a lie, though Severus hadn't been specific enough to truly endanger Potter if the idiot boy had managed his way back to Grimmauld Place. It was only a matter of time, though, before they would find the Black home. Somehow, Severus would have to get warning to Potter there.

He avoided looking over to Dolores Umbridge, but out of his peripheral vision he could see something dull and amber-colored hanging round her neck on a thick silver chain.

' _Locket. Locket. Locket._ ' Severus could still hear the frantic thoughts inside Ronald Weasley's head, almost as though the boy had been pushing the word at him, urging him to find the locket and do something with it. Certainly the locket had been the reason they'd gone to the MInistry of Magic. Weasley and Potter had wanted - or needed - the locket around Dolores Umbridge's neck for some purpose. But what? Severus cleared his throat absently.

"My advice, My Lord, would be to keep Weasley here as your prisoner for the time being. It will attract Potter like a moth to flame. He was in hiding with this boy; there is no chance he will simply leave his friend here as a prisoner for any length of time once he discovers the boy is being held."

"And how will he know?" Voldemort demanded.

"Announce it over the radio," Severus suggested smoothly. "Announce that Ronald Weasley lied about contracting spattergroit, snuck his way into the Ministry of Magic with Undesirable Number 1 for nefarious purposes, was apprehended, and is being held captive at the home of the Malfoy family. I promise you, My Lord, it shall draw Potter straight to you."

"Hm…" Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "An intriguing concept, I admit. Very well. I shall give the boy ten days to come to me, and if after that time he refuses to show his face, we shall eliminate the Weasley boy. That is, if he still refuses to talk after that time. Bella, dear, take him downstairs."

"With pleasure, My Lord," Bellatrix hissed happily, and she rushed forward and jabbed her new, oddly pale wand at Ronald Weasley. " _Imperio!"_ she said gleefully, and then she directed the boy about with graceful movements of her wand as if he were a puppet. The red-haired boy's face was blank and emotionless as he shoved back his chair, rose, and followed Bellatrix from the room.

Voldemort chuckled with dark mirth and turned to Dolores Umbridge. "Make the announcement," he commanded, and Dolores nodded with a bird-like titter. Voldemort flicked his eyes to Severus. "And you, Severus… how are things progressing at Hogwarts?"

"The Carrows are quite strict, My Lord… perhaps too strict; many parents are receiving indignant owls from punished children and we may receive pushback over that issue. Nonetheless, the changes to the curriculum have been… refreshing."

It was a lie, but Severus curled his lips and pretended it was truth, and Voldemort seemed convinced. His grey reptilian face looked relieved, and he pressed, "And how it your little pet lion?"

Hermione. He meant Hermione. Severus' breath caught in his chest a bit and he just nodded solemnly. "She - she is well, My Lord."

"I was not inquiring after her welfare."

Severus knew that full well, but he licked his lips and said delicately. "I am not accustomed to sharing many personal details…"

He glanced around the table, at Draco and Dolores Umbridge and Narcissa Malfoy and Yaxley and Lucius, and he felt his cheeks grow warm. Voldemort frequently utilized humiliation as a tactic to make his followers more submissive. It was better to be feared than to be loved, in the Dark Lord's eyes, and so his Death Eaters lived in constant fear of embarrassment.

Severus sighed a bit and said, "I am a hopelessly confidential man, My Lord. Forgive me."

"Then open your mind, Severus, and let me in. It shall only just be me." Voldemort smirked rather viciously and tented his fingertips on the table, locking eyes with Severus.

There was a strong pressure on Severus' mind as the Dark Lord tried to enter. Severus knew he could only put up so many blocks as Voldemort searched deliberately for images of Hermione. If he used too strong of Occlumency skills, he risked angering Voldemort outright and earning punishment. On the other hand, this little game ran the risk of Severus showing dangerous information.

Voldemort wanted to see Severus' private moments with Hermione, not for any explicitly erotic reason, but in order to disgrace Severus by invading his privacy. So he pushed forth memories and images he did not mind Voldemort seeing - or, at the very least, ones that would probably not get anyone killed.

 _Hermione riding him in the tattered bed on Spinner's End while he toyed with her sex. She was moaning and tossed her head back as she ground her hips snugly against him. Severus growling at her, 'Come for me, Hermione. Come for me.'_

Severus watched as Voldemort leered at him across the dining room table, and he struggled to focus on something less lurid.

' _I'm very glad to hear you love me back, Hermione Jean Granger. Otherwise, I should feel very lonesome indeed, drowning in you all the time as I do.'_

Now Voldemort was rolling his pale eyes as if disgusted by Severus' internal displays of affection for Hermione. Around the table, the others shifted awkwardly, cleared their throats quietly, and twiddled their thumbs as Voldemort and Severus stared silently at one another. Voldemort pushed back in and searched, and Severus fought hard to push something suitable forward, but then all of a sudden, like an explosion, a memory was playing like a film, uncontrolled.

' _... I have no desire to live a single day more without you by my side. Please, Miss Granger, will you marry me?'_

 _The sight of the emerald ring upon her finger as she lay in his bed, half-clad in his borrowed white dress shirt._

Then, with a spinning sort of whirl, Voldemort yanked himself out of Severus' mind. Severus felt nauseated and dizzy and looked away, frowning contritely.

"Lovely ring," Voldemort noted with a bitter hint of mockery, "for a lovely bride."

Draco Malfoy squinted, confused, and looked as though he were going to blurt something out, but Narcissa wisely placed her hand upon his forearm to stop her son from speaking. Dolores Umbridge raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips obnoxiously.

"My Lord, I -" Severus began, but Voldemort interrupted him,  
"You did not ask my permission before proposing to Miss Granger."

"No, My Lord. I did not," Severus admitted. He saw Draco Malfoy flinch visibly in disbelief at Voldemort's words, and Severus tried to suppress a hopeless little sigh. Voldemort twirled his wand slowly in his hand and rolled his thin neck irritatedly.

"It is protocol that all Death Eaters be granted permission directly from me before they wed," Voldemort reminded Severus, "in order to maintain blood purity and to ensure stability. And to prove your loyalty."

"Yes, My Lord. I understand. I sincerely apologize - quite right, I ought to have asked. It was very wrong of me." Severus anticipated that he was about to be severely punished. He'd faced the Cruciatus for infractions before, and he could feel it coming now. So he was intensely surprised when instead Voldemort asked in a bored voice,

"She is how old?"

"Erm - eighteen, My Lord. Just turned yesterday." Severus frowned deeply.

"Old enough, then. You are to seal yourself to her by the New Year. Your union will serve as a shining example for the Ministry's new policies encouraging half-bloods to breed with other half-bloods, thus increasing the Magical-born population."

Severus felt his lips part in surprise, and he quickly mumbled, " _Breed_ , My Lord? Herm - _Miss Granger_ is still a student at Hogwarts. It would be, I believe, most improper in appearance for the Headmaster to wed and take a seventh-year student into his chambers… and then _breed_ with her? Aside from which, I do not wish at all to detract from the girl's studies…"

He felt a hot flush creeping up his cheeks as he struggled to stay calm, particularly as he saw an angry flash come over Voldemort's face.

"Are you questioning me, Severus?" Voldemort demanded, and Severus gave a minute shake of his head. But Voldemort continued, "I think it quite proper indeed that the Headmaster of Hogwarts demonstrate strict adherence to new Ministry policy, don't you? You will be demonstrating your commitment to increase Magical-born population. You will wed the girl by the New Year and breed her quickly. Those are my orders. Do you understand?"

Voldemort's voice had grown dangerously soft and very stern. Nagini had slithered up onto the table and Voldemort was stroking the snake's head soothingly. Severus squirmed uncomfortably in his chair and nodded curtly.

"Of course, My Lord," he murmured, squaring his jaw. "Consider it done."

* * *

Severus rushed into the Headmaster's office, flinging the door open and calling, "Phineas Nigellus Black!"

The portraits on the wall roused themselves from sleep, real or feigned, and all stared at him with wide-eyed alarm. Phineas Nigellus Black scowled as he realized something was amok, and he asked his fellow Slytherin,

"What ever is the matter, my boy?"

"Do you still have a portrait in Grimmauld Place?" Severus demanded, and Phineas Nigellus startled, then nodded solemly.

"I hang there still," he answered, and there was something cryptic in the way he said it that instantly confirmed to Severus what he already knew.

"You've seen Potter there."

"Albus…" Phineas Nigellus cocked his head over to the portrait of Dumbledore, as if asking for permission to share this information with Severus. The portrait of Dumbledore nodded enthusiastically, and so Phineas Nigellus turned back to Severus. "Yes, I have. He was still there, as of last night."

"It is not safe for him there. The Dark Lord knows the boy is hiding in an old, abandoned house in London," Severus warned the portrait. "Ronald Weasley is being held captive by Death Eaters. You must go to Grimmauld Place _at once_ and warn Potter to leave and not to go back there. He must not pursue Weasley, either. And - Phineas Nigellus… tell the boy that if he is ever able to contact Hermione Granger, that the girl is a ally for him."

Phineas Nigellus nodded brusquely and started to leave his frame. Then Severus remembered something and called out,

"Oh! One more thing!" The portrait came back into frame and Severus said cautiously, "Tell Potter that I know about the locket and that I shall obtain it as soon as possible. But I have no idea what to do with it. I need to know what to do with it once I've got it. Ask him, Phineas, will you?"

"Of course, Headmaster." And with that, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black vanished, off to his other location at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Severus swept out of the Headmaster's Office without sparing a glance to Dumbledore's portrait. He had no patience for the old man at the moment. He was too preoccupied with the dreadful thought of informing Hermione that they would be wed by the New Year - on Voldemort's orders - and that she was to be something of a broodmare for him. There had to be a workaround for that conundrum, he figured, and she would undoubtedly help him think of one.

* * *

When the clock passed six and Severus still had not returned, Hermione pulled herself from his bed and made it, tucking the duvet up around the pillows carefully. She unbuttoned his white dress shirt and hung it in his wardrobe, pulling on the dress she'd come in and Disillusioning herself. She snuck quietly up from the dungeons and through the corridors, all the way up to Gryffindor Tower until she had to lift her Disillusionment to give the password to the Fat Lady.

" _Gazania caespitosa,_ " Hermione muttered impatiently, and the Fat Lady raised her eyebrows and huffed with poorly-disguised judgment.

"And what, young lady, have _you_ been doing about at this hour? This is more than once that I have been asked to admit you into the common room when it is morning, rather than night, and you have not been in for the evening. I find it most improper, and most against the rules! I shall have to notify your Head of House when next I see her!"

The portrait did swing open, though, and Hermione growled rather crossly, "Yes, well, something tells the _Headmaster_ won't exactly be angry to hear I've been out and about…"

"What was that, dear?" The Fat Lady called from behind Hermione, but as she dashed through the Portrait Hole into the Common Room, Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed,

"Nothing! Thank you!"

She hustled up to her dormitory and opened the door as quietly as she could, feeling relief over her when she saw that all her fellow seventh-year girls were still slumbering quietly in the pale light of the early morning. She slipped beneath her own duvet and resolved to rest for another hour before rising for breakfast.

As she lay upon her back, Hermione tried to reconcile the reality that she was now _engaged_ to Severus Snape. He'd asked her to marry her - in a truly, honestly romantic fashion, she had to admit - and she had said yes.

He was her fiancé. That was the reality of this morning. Hermione shivered a bit as that truth sank into her bones, and her lips curled up into the happiest of little smiles. She gazed down at her left hand and felt positively giddy.

 _Oh, stop it, Hermione,_ she tried to scold herself, trying to tell herself that silly glee over an engagement was something Lavender Brown would feel, not Hermione Granger. But she was completely out of control of her emotions. She could not stop the way her heart fluttered when she looked down at the pretty green stone on her finger and knew that Severus had put it there. She could not keep her breath from catching and then quickening when she heard in her mind, over and over, the way he'd said, " _Please, Miss Granger, will you marry me?"_

She knew that it was most common for Muggle brides to wear diamonds for engagement rings, but she liked the green stone - which was not obviously an emerald (it was very clear and vibrant and might be something else, she thought). The forest green color made her think of her Slytherin husband-to-be, and she thought he'd almost certainly chosen the color on purpose. The rose cold, a rich copper in color, complemented the green stone beautifully and lent the ring a further bit of uniqueness. And the small glittering diamonds surrounding the oval green centerpiece just added to the overall luxe look of the thing. Hermione loved it, and she found herself suddenly not caring at all who wondered or asked or cared that she was engaged to be married.

So as she made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast that morning, even though the ring felt like a hundred-pound weight on her hand, it was a good sort of weight. She almost _wanted_ people to notice it; it was a sort of source of pride. Hermione was sick of hiding her relationship with Severus. After nine months of physical intimacy with him, the secrecy had become stifling.

No, they would never sit in Madam Pudifoot's and hold hands. But that had nothing to do with confidentiality. That simply was not Severus' way. Even if they were ever able to openly be a couple - if that world ever existed - Hermione would never drag Severus to a tea shop. That was not the man she loved, and that would never be their public life. But would it be so foul to expect that she might walk next to him in Diagon Alley and have him hold the door for her as they strode into Slug and Jiggers Apothecary? Was that too much to ask out of life?

Hermione slid onto the bench at the Gryffindor Table, and then she glanced up to the Staff Table. Severus was not in the Headmaster's Chair, and though he was known to skip meals, Hermione assumed he had not yet returned from his meeting. With a small sigh of unease, Hermione took a croissant and an apple and poured herself a goblet of skimmed milk. She saw out of her peripheral vision as Ginny Weasley paused mid-conversation with Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan and furrowed her red brows, her eyes locking on Hermione's left hand.

"Erm… I'll be right back, Neville," Ginny mumbled, and Hermione felt her cheeks go quite warm. She chewed her croissant and stared resolutely ahead as Ginny slid down the bench until she was sitting directly opposite Hermione. The red-haired girl folded her hands neatly upon the table and swallowed a bit, chewing her lip awkwardly. Hermione just started picking little flakes off of her croissant and nodded brusquely at Ginny.

"Morning," she acknowledged, and Ginny said hoarsely,

"That's a beautiful new ring you've got there, 'Mione."

Hermione licked her bottom lip, wondering whether she ought to lie and tell Ginny her parents sent her the ring. But then she'd have to explain why she was wearing it on her engagement finger. And then she'd have to explain why it was that she'd begun crying, for the very thought of her parents made Hermione's eyes burn, and she had to shove the thoughts away at once. So, deciding not to lie outright, Hermione shrugged and let her eyes meet Ginny's.

"Thank you. It was a birthday gift." That wasn't an untruth at all, Hermione considered. Severus _had_ proposed on her birthday.

"Oh… yes. Happy birthday," Ginny nodded, and then admitted, "belated, that is."

"Thanks." Hermione's voice was clipped and rather rude. The tension was palpable and downright uncomfortable, so she flicked her eyebrows up and finally asked, "Is there something you need, Ginny?"

Ginny Weasley sighed heavily and tipped her head to the side. "Is that an _engagement_ ring, Hermione?"

Hermione sniffed lightly, tipped her chin up a bit, and took a long sip of skimmed milk. She chewed a bite of croissant, swallowed it, and then shrugged again. "So what if it is?"

Ginny squared her jaw and nodded. "Well, then I suppose congratulations are in order," she said, but it came out rather like a scoff of disbelief and did not sound congratulatory at all. Hermione set her croissant down and felt her cheeks flush with anger and something else she could not readily identify. She opened her mouth to speak, but then she heard from behind her,

"Miss Granger?"

At the familiar, glossy sound of his low voice, Hermione whirled round over her shoulder. She stared up the black column of his frock coat, up into his tired-looking dark eyes, and wondered absently if he'd just gotten back in. She furrowed her brows, silently asking him that question, and he nodded minutely as if to answer her 'yes.'

"My office, after your Potions lesson, if you please," Severus rather snapped at Hermione. He flicked his gaze to Ginny Weasley and scowled a bit, and the red-haired girl looked back at him with a mixture of fear and defiance. Severus cleared his throat lightly and returned his eyes to Hermione's. Dropping his stern pretense a little, he said very quietly, "I'm afraid it's terribly important, Miss Granger, so please be punctual."

"Yes, sir," she nodded at him, and he turned and stalked up to the Staff Table without another word. Hermione sighed and turned back to Ginny, who had pinched her lips and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Is that how it is, then?" Ginny demanded skeptically, and Hermione felt her jaw go slack with disbelief. Ginny persisted, "When he's in bed with you, does he call you ' _Miss Granger_ '? When you ask him to go faster, is it ' _Please, sir_ '?"

Ginny smirked rather cruelly, her freckled face suddenly looking very ugly indeed. Hermione felt sick. She'd always known Ginny could be jealous, that the girl was matter-of-fact and not terribly warm. But this was outright savagery. Hermione gulped and shook her head, and she whispered.

"That's vile, Ginny. You're ignorant, very ignorant, and I'm sorry for you. I'm just a woman in love a man, and I'm going to marry him. I'm very, very sorry that our lives offend you in such a way. You believe him to be a murderer, to be a foul creature. You're wrong, but it doesn't matter. I don't care anymore what you or anyone else thinks. Believe what you like. I don't much care to listen anymore. Goodbye."

Hermione rose from the Gryffindor Table and walked quickly from the Great Hall, leaving Ginny Weasley breathless and pink-cheeked in her wake.

* * *

The potions classroom that day seemed cluttered and chaotic, since Professor Slughorn had already prepared each work station with an abundance of ingredients and tools. Hermione raised her eyebrows as she took her place, realizing they must be doing something awfully complicated today.

Parvati Patil sidled up next to Hermione, while Lavender Brown went to work clear across the room. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, thinking the girls must have been arguing over something or other, but she didn't ask. Instead, she was simply glad for the company.

"Hello, there, Parvati," she said warmly. "Looks like we're in for quite the treat today, eh?"

"Yeah." Parvati scowled, and Hermione thought she must be upset over whatever she was fighting with Lavender about, so she decided not to try to socialize after all. She sighed a little and stared down into her own copper cauldron, the one Severus had bought for her in Diagon Alley.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," said Professor Slughorn from the front of the room, and Hermione raised his eyes to see him attempting to get everyone's attention. Once the conversations quieted, Slughorn said, "Today we are going to brew a most interesting elixir indeed! The Recordatio Potion is the essence of reminiscence - of reliving that which we miss the very most in our lives.

How this potion works is that the drinker places a solitary drop beneath his or her tongue - any more, and the memories become outright hallucinations that can not be discerned from reality! However, a single drop, and the drinker is flooded with sensory recollections of what he or she has lost from life and wishes most sincerely to have back. For me, this potion triggers memories of my dear sister, who died years ago! When I take a drop beneath the tongue, I can hear her voice like a bell in my ears, I can see her face clear as sunlight. For some, this potion is very pleasant indeed, but for others it is depressing or even traumatizing. Therefore, testing your work shall be completely optional. The recipe may be found on page seventy-seven of your texts. Please begin!"

Hermione frowned a bit. She was not sure if she wanted to test out the Recordatio Potion. What if it made her sense her parents? What if that sensation was too much to bear? Worse yet, what if it turned out that her subconscious missed something else even more than her parents - like Harry and Ron? She didn't think that would be the case, but it would have been a disturbing discovery to make.

In any case, Hermione resolved that she would not be testing out the Recordatio Potion. She would let Professor Slughorn grade her based on the color and texture of the finished product.

She turned her text to page seventy-seven and began scanning through the long list of instructions, feeling very grateful that Professor Slughorn had gathered all of the ingredients for the students ahead of time. She suddenly found herself wishing that she had Severus' sneaky hints from the previous year - the Half-Blood Prince's textbook, as it were. Severus was something of a Potions genius, Hermione thought with a crooked little smile as she smashed sopophorous beans instead of cutting them, just like he'd written in the margins to do.

' _Drop in precisely one hundred and eight six droplets of Bat's Blood. After this, add twenty-two scales of Denny Snake and stir clockwise for thirty seconds. Pause for a minute and add a pinch of Octopus Powder.'_

Hermione followed these instructions, after which her potion turned a rather garish shade of purple. She glanced back down to the book.

' _Chop one dried tentacle of Flitterbloom into pieces no larger than one centimeter square, then smash the small pieces flat with blade. Add to potion one piece at a time, stirring between pieces.'_

Hermione re-read the instruction a few times. She picked up the dried Flitterbloom tentacle and her silver knife and drove the blade against it, but it was no use. The plant was far too tough even for her silver knife. She scowled and furrowed her eyebrows. A moment later, she heard Parvati Patil huff angrily beside her as she reached the same place in her potion. She, too, was struggling mightily with the Flitterbloom and her silver knife.

From the front of the classroom, Professor Slughorn chuckled and said loudly, "Put your backs into those dried Flitterblooms, my friends! I'm afraid it takes quite a blade to get through them!"

Suddenly, Hermione felt her eyebrows fly up as she remembered the birthday gift she'd been given by Luna Lovegood the day previously. She reached quickly for her schoolbag and threw open the cover, snatching the pearlescent-looking Wyvern dagger from inside and holding it triumphantly before her. She examined it again. The jagged, luminescent white blade sat snugly inside the black glass handle. Hermione was impressed by Luna's foresight, as always. She gripped the Wyvern dagger and directed its blade toward the dried Flitterbloom tentacle. She could still hear Luna's dreamy voice telling her how the dagger was incredibly useful for Potions, so this would be a test of that.

The dagger slid through the Flitterbloom as though it were made of gel, and Hermione gasped quietly. She diced and cut quickly, and then she smashed the dried Flitterbloom chunks and put them in her copper cauldron. She was just about to tuck the Wyvern dagger back into her bag when Parvati said indignantly from beside her,

"Hey! Hermione, how did you manage _that_?"

"Oh… erm… you just have to really use a lot of pressure," Hermione mumbled softly, feeling her cheeks go red, but Professor Slughorn was already rushing over.

"Delightful!" he cried. "A Wyvern dagger. This is quite valuable, Miss Granger. Be careful with this. Dangerous, too, you know - there are cursed and magical items that can be destroyed by very few things, you know - Wyvern daggers among them! This knife is incredibly useful. Guard it carefully!"

He laughed merrily and walked away with a little bounce in his step. Parvati scowled angrily at Hermione for lying about 'just using more pressure.' Feeling guilty, Hermione held out the black glass handle of the dagger to Parvati and said,

"Erm… here, Parvati… go ahead and use it on your Flitterbloom. Can't see how we're meant to do it with the silver knives." Parvati snatched the dagger and muttered a half-hearted thanks.

Hermione's potion brewed more quickly than the other students', since she was using a high-quality copper cauldron, and she figured this would only help breed enmity toward her in the class, so she stood around idly for a few moments until others began finishing before calling Professor Slughorn over to grade her potion. She got full marks, but declined to test the Recordatio Potion.

The minute she was excused, Hermione made her way briskly up to the Headmaster's Tower.

" _Le sang est du sang_ ," she muttered at the gargoyle, which swung open to grant her admission. She trotted up the stairs and into Severus' office, and she saw him sitting at the desk that had once been Professor Dumbledore's. It was Hermione's first time in the office since Severus had been appointed Headmaster, and it felt rather awkward being here now… particularly when she laid eyes upon the large portrait of Albus Dumbledore directly behind where Severus sat.

"Hello…" Hermione murmured, slowing her steps as she padded into the room.

"Hermione," Severus acknowledged rather curtly as he finished scribbling something upon a bit of parchment.

Hermione stared behind him at Dumbledore's portrait, which was sleeping (or pretending to do so) with his (its?) chin propped on an elbow. She frowned. Was it _really_ Dumbledore in there? No. She knew portraits were merely facsimiles, imitations of the dead they represented. But, still, it was odd and unnerving to see an animated version of Dumbledore's face.

As Hermione neared Severus' desk, he finally cleared his throat and set down his quill, and he gestured with a little sigh to the chair across from him for her to sit. Hermione felt very much like a student who was here to discuss the assignment of detentions, rather than his new fiancée, and she crumpled her eyebrows.

"What's wrong, Severus?"

He took a little breath and pinched his lips, and then he said in his smooth, low voice, "As you well know, I was called away early this morning."

"Yes."

"There are several things about that meeting I need to discuss with you."

Hermione felt a pit of anxiety at his seriousness. She chewed her lip. "All right."

"I saw Ronald Weasley." Severus squared his jaw. Hermione felt her own mouth drop open.

"Was… was he alive?" That was the first question that popped into her head for some reason. Severus didn't scoff at her, didn't mock her. He just nodded once and said,

"He was captured attempting a break-in at the Ministry of Magic with Potter, who, I should add, was not apprehended and is missing still. He was at Grimmauld Place, though I sent Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait to warn the boy to leave at once."

"Oh." Hermione nodded numbly. _See?!_ She wanted to scream at Ginny Weasley. _See! Severus is not evil._ Instead she just gulped and tried to think why the boys would have been breaking into the Ministry. There must have been a Horcrux there, she realized. They must have been trying to steal something from the Ministry.

"Weasley had been tortured quite a bit by Bellatrix Lestrange by the time I arrived," Severus continued softly, "but the Dark Lord demanded I use Legilimency on him to attempt to ascertain Potter's location. I was, of course, able to see that Potter was at Grimmauld Place, though I told the Dark Lord I could see only a dirty house in London. There was more, though. Weasley was shoving the image into my head of a locket - specifically, I believe, an amber-colored locket worn around the neck of Dolores Umbridge. It is, I think, what he and Potter wanted from the Ministry of Magic."

Severus sighed very heavily and worked his hands together as though he were molding clay. He stared deeply into Hermione's eyes, but she felt no push into her mind. He said gently,

"I do not know what it is those boys were after, Hermione. You know more than I do, I think. I know there is good reason I am ignorant to some of this information. I am passing as much on to you as I can, because I can only assume these two are not on holiday, but rather acting in some attempt to ultimately defeat or destroy the Dark Lord. I am not sure how the locket around Umbridge's neck plays into all of that, and I do not wish to know any more than I must. Neither do I wish danger for you in any capacity whatsoever. But you are the brightest witch I've ever known, Hermione. Weasley is not available to him right now. He is alone. If you know anything about this locket, or any way to help Potter… any way _I_ might help… you know what I mean, Hermione. I'm on your side."

He sounded tired and exasperated then, and Hermione just nodded silently again. She could scarcely blame him for being so weary. It was so much for one man, to be pushed and pulled and thrown information and kept in the dark. But, amazingly, it seemed there was even more. Severus dragged his fingertips around the desk thoughtfully for a moment and then said,

"The Dark Lord poked around my head, looking for thoughts of you. I thrust forth the things I found least objectionable, but I could only partake in his game to a certain extent. Eventually he saw me ask you to marry me. I'm sorry."

"Oh," Hermione heard herself say again, wondering absently what the consequences were of that. Her lips parted in slight fear and she blinked heavily. "And… was he quite angry?"

"He rather wished I had asked for permission," Severus acknowledged in a deadpan tone, dropping his gaze to the desk. He was silent for a long moment. Hermione felt her heart sink. So, they were not to be permitted to marry. Voldemort's control of everyone's lives extended that far, then?

"Would - would you like the ring back?" Hermione asked meekly, and Severus' dark eyes snapped up to hers. He frowned.

"I do not think you understand," he said rather sharply. "His orders were that I am to marry you quickly - by the New Year."

"Oh." Hermione knew she sounded stupid, with all her monosyllabic, disbelieving responses, but she felt awfully overwhelmed today. Suddenly her cheeks felt hot and her ears rang rather loudly. By the New Year? Within three months, she was to be married to Severus? But that gave them no time at all - and she would still be a student! She shrugged in confusion and asked, "Am - Am I to leave school? I don't understand. Why -"

When Severus next spoke, his words were acerbic and sharp, the way he'd spoken to Neville Longbottom in lessons for the past seven years. Hermione sat up straighter out of habit as his words clipped out.

"The Ministry of Magic has determined that they should _strongly encourage_ half-bloods to marry other half-bloods. This will vastly increase the 'two Magical parent population,' and thus create a new swell of pseudo-pureblood lines. Who better to represent this policy than the Headmaster of Hogwarts and his lovely, intelligent young bride?"

"But I'm Muggle-born!" Hermione hissed rather angrily.

"No." Severus leaned across the desk and scowled. "Your mother is a Squib, remember?" He sat back up and made his back straight as a ramrod, smoothing his frock coat. "And, anyway, it doesn't matter. I was hardly in a position to question or disobey the Dark Lord. A person who does that directly faces two simple words and a very quick flash of green light. You've agreed to marry me, Hermione. I'm very sorry, but unless you wish death for both of us, then it's going to have to happen before the New Year."

Hermione nodded grimly. "All right, then," she said resolutely. He was right. She wanted to marry him. Why put it off? From the sounds of it, at the very least this ghastly policy would allow them to be public with their relationship. Perhaps she'd even get to move out of Gryffindor Tower and down into his chambers. What a strange thought _that_ was, Hermione pondered, brushing her thumb over her green ring.

"I'm afraid there's something else," Severus said, more softly than ever, and Hermione snapped her eyes up at him, feeling very afraid at his sudden gentle tone.

"What is it?" she asked cautiously, visibly recoiling.

Severus looked over his shoulder with a very awkward expression on his face at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who was still snoozing with his head propped on his hand. But Hermione sensed that the portrait was just pretending, and she thought Severus suspected the same. When Severus sighed and looked back at her, his pale cheeked were stained pink with embarrassment.

"What is it, Severus?" Hermione asked quietly. He licked his bottom lip carefully and folded his hands delicately upon the desk, leaning forward a little. Then he reached across the desk and took one of Hermione's small hands in his own and brushed his calloused thumb over the back of her hand. Hermione furrowed her brow. "What's wrong?" she demanded again.

"I…" Severus' voice was rather hoarse, and he squared his jaw, searching for words as the color on his cheeks deepened. "I am meant to… put a child in you… as quickly as possible. I do not wish to do that to you, Hermione, for many reasons. Please, do not misunderstand. It is not that I have no desire to see you as a mother, or for me to be a father. I am quite certain that such a scenario would be very beautiful, under entirely different circumstances. But we live at a school, with you as a student and me as the Headmaster. That is the first of many problems. It is also wartime, and there is no guarantee of safety for either you or me, let alone for a new child. You are also, I firmly believe, far too young to surrender your youth entirely to motherhood. I wish very much for you to live at least a few more years in some degree of freedom before handing over the majority of your time to parenthood. But I have been strictly commanded to… well, the barbaric term used was 'to breed' with you…"

Severus paused and bit his lip firmly, continuing to stroke Hermione's hand with his thumb. She suddenly felt a swell of the deepest love for him. He respected her so very much that he wanted her to have her own life before giving him a child - and, yet, he did say he wanted a child someday. It was all very lovely, she thought. But under it all was the incredibly disturbing notion of Voldemort ordering the two of them to 'breed.' Hermione felt an odd swirl of emotions at it all, and she was dizzy in her chair. She squeezed Severus' hand and asked,

"Couldn't we… is there not some long-term protection method that would go undetected? We might claim we were trying our best, and you could even show him images of that…" Hermione felt a nasty bit of acid in her throat at the thought of that, "but that I was unable to conceive? At least for a while?"

Severus nodded grimly and extracted a small blue bottle from the drawer of his desk. "This," he said seriously, "is probably our safest bet."

He held it out to her, and she read the little label. In Severus' neat script it said, ' _Elixir Infecundum_.'

"I've heard about this," Hermione murmured, nerves coming through her voice. She looked up. "Undetectable. Effective. But dangerous."

Severus gave a single curt nod. "It works long-term, but you need a very specific antidote to get fertility back. I have that antidote; it takes five years to brew and I know of only a single bottle in existence. It's a risk, Hermione, to be certain. But this is not the life I wish for you… I want you to take your exams, to be _you_ until you're properly tired of having fun. Please consider giving yourself time…"

"Of course." Hermione nodded emphatically and looked down at the little bottle. "Are there… are there side effects?"

"You should spend tonight in my quarters," Severus said cautiously, nodding. "I shall care for you. You'll be nauseated, certainly. A bit of bleeding - well, quite a lot of bleeding, I'm made to understand. Dizziness, fatigue… it shall only last a few hours. This is the price for the Dark Lord's demands."

Hermione felt her head nod, felt her throat swallow heavily. "All right," she said, and she handed the bottle back over to Severus. "And… when are we to marry? Is that to be a public affair?"

"Albus?" Severus turned over his shoulder again, and the portrait of Dumbledore pretended to wake up from his feigned sleep. Severus sighed irritably.

"Oh! Hello, Miss Granger," Dumbledore's portrait greeted her, and Hermione smiled tightly.

"Hello, sir."

"Albus… this blasted wedding," Severus began, and Hermione felt a bit hurt to hear him refer to it like that, although she knew it was only because he wasn't one for ceremonies, "must it happen in front of any other human beings?"

Hermione wanted to giggle at the way he phrased the question, and the portrait of Dumbledore got a little glisten of amusement in his pale eyes.

"Well, Severus," the portrait began, "it would, perhaps, assuage Voldemort's demands more effectively to hold a grand ceremony in the Great Hall with all the students and staff as guests, but that would, of course, require inviting Death Eaters, and it would undoubtedly embarrass you thoroughly as Headmaster."

"That sounds positively unbearable," Severus growled, and Hermione felt a sad little frown come over her face.

"I'm not entirely certain I want to walk down an aisle," she admitted, "if I can't have my father with me."

Severus' eyes suddenly changed, got visibly softer, and he nodded resolutely before turning back to the portrait of Dumbledore.

"The _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ may be taken in private, may it not?" Severus asked firmly, drumming his fingertips upon the desk, and Hermione felt a shudder of anxiety ripple through her stomach. She'd only read about the _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ in a single book - specifically, one about indestructible sealings, vows, spells, and curses.

The "Great Word of Honor," as it translated, was a spell distantly related to the Unbreakable Vow. But the _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ dated back to the times of the Ancients, and was specifically for marriage. It was a spell that bound the very souls of the married parties together. To a certain degree, it was said, those bound with _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ would feel one another's pain, know one another's joy, and sense one another's sorrow. The bindings extended so deeply into the soul that when one died, the other could only live a short time thereafter - one bound soul could not exist successfully without the other.

Most notable was the fact that _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ could not be broken. Those bound with the spell were said to feel no inclination to stray, physically or emotionally. _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ did not artificially strengthen or create love - it protected what already existed. It was a divorce-proof, infidelity-proof spell, and that in itself had kept many a witch and wizard far away from it as a method of marriage binding for millennia.

Performing the spell was easy enough and required no third party, unlike an Unbreakable Vow. Each partner recited words of admiration and love, followed by the traditional incantation, while pointing his or her wand at the heart of the other person. The spell worked by binding the souls together in a deep entanglement that could not come undone through any means.

The physical evidence of the _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ \- and proof that it had been performed even in the absence of a witness - was said to be simple. If one spouse pressed his or her hand upon the chest of the other, a soft, warm glow erupted between the two.

The fact that Severus wanted to consider _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ , rather than a simple traditional wizarding wedding, made Hermione's eyes burn with tears. He was really quite serious, then. Moreover, he didn't want a grand, stupid, overblown ceremony in the Great Hall with the Carrows and Lavender Brown and Pansy Parkinson and Colin Creevey all there to see. No. He wanted it just them, just the two of them, taking the Great Word of Honor together.

"Yes, Severus," the portrait of Dumbledore answered him, raising his fluffy white eyebrows. " _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ may be taken with no witnesses. But you must be quite certain that's what you -"

"I am quite certain. As long as that is what Hermione wants." Severus cut off the portrait and turned away, back to Hermione, and folded his hands upon the desk again. Hermione nodded silently, her eyes swimming with tears.

"I love you, Severus," she blurted suddenly, not having the ability to say anything else. He smirked rather warmly at her.

"Let me know when you've a pretty little dress to wear," he said matter-of-factly, turning back to the papers on his desk, "and I shall be very happy to marry you, Hermione. Come to my rooms tonight for the potion, then."

"Yes. All right." Hermione nodded and rose, walking briskly from the Headmaster's Tower as her head swam with visions of poor Ron Weasley and nasty Dolores Umbridge, of herself sick from an undetectable birth control potion and more happily of herself marrying Severus.

Absently, she realized she was running late and hadn't gotten a tardy note for Arithmancy. She didn't much care. She would simply tell Professor Vector that, as usual, Professor Snape had been the reason for her delay.

But then, as she glanced down at her left hand, at the unique and elegant ring he'd put there, she thought perhaps she might go back and ask him for a note, after all.


	9. Chapter 9

"Minerva."

Severus put down the book he was reading and shut it, raking his fingers through his black hair and staring resolutely at the woman who had been teaching Transfiguration at Hogwarts for decades.

"Good afternoon, Headmaster."

Severus frowned at her cold formality and gestured for her to sit opposite him. "Minerva, you have known me since I was eleven years old."

Minerva pinched her lips and rather scowled, "So I thought I did, Severus. But then you put _him_ up _there_." She flicked her wrinkled eyes up to the portrait of Dumbledore, which was once again pretending to be asleep. Severus sighed exasperatedly and turned over his shoulder, barking at the portrait,

"Albus! Would you care to assist me?"

"Oh!" The portrait of Dumbledore roused from his feigned sleep and said, "Good afternoon, Minerva! How wonderful to see you."

"Indeed." Minerva crossed her ankles tightly and put her hands on her knees, looking uncomfortable. "What is this all about, anyway?"

"Albus?" Severus prompted again tersely, and the portrait cleared his throat.

"Minerva, I realize you believe Severus to be a cold-blooded murderer, and I can scarcely blame you."

Severus found himself crumpling his eyebrows up at the portrait at that. How, precisely, was it helpful to say something like _that_? But then Dumbledore's portrait persisted and said,

"But, you must understand the reality. Draco Malfoy had been ordered to murder me, and I insisted that Severus do it instead. He killed me to protect the boy, Minerva. My death was an inevitability… Severus acted to preserve his role as a double agent, and also to protect Draco. In killing me, Severus was being both selfless and courageous."

Severus felt his cheeks color with a bit of embarrassment at the unsolicited flattery, and he cleared his throat softly as he turned back to Minerva. He was shocked to see her pale, wide eyes swimming with sudden tears. Her chin trembled and she whispered,

"Is this true, Severus?"

He just nodded at her, a curt, single bob of his head. "It is true that I did not kill Albus Dumbledore out of malice."

Minerva was silent for a long moment. She opened her mouth to speak, furrowed her brows, and shut her lips again. Severus waited patiently. Then, at last, Minerva asked softly, "And what of Miss Granger? The night that Albus… _died_ … Miss Granger admitted that you and she..."

"Yes." Severus nodded again. "That's been going on for some time now. That is, in fact, the reason I asked you here today, Minerva."

McGonagall looked rather horrified, pressing her bony old fingers up to her thin wrinkled lips as she waited for Severus to continue. He took a shaking breath and swallowed.

"Miss Gra - _Hermione_ \- and I are to be married. Quite soon, in fact… the expediency of the matter is at the insistence of the Dark Lord, or else I would certainly wait for a more suitable and less scandalous time frame."

Minerva's mouth fell open as though her jaw had come entirely unhinged. Her eyes fluttered shut and then open again in shock, and she stammered, "You - you mean to _marry_ the girl, Severus?"

"I do indeed." Severus' voice was rather sharp now, for he felt quite irritated with Minerva's indignant tone. He sighed brusquely as Minerva sat up straighter in her chair and huffed,

"She is a child!"

"She is _not_ ," Severus insisted, feeling his cheeks color. His voice was a low, liquid silk hiss as he said, "She is very much more than that, Minerva, and you condescend to both Hermione and myself to underestimate her."

"She is a _student_ , Severus, and that is a _fact!_ This is most inappropriate!" Minerva shook her head vehemently and looked flat-out disgusted. "No, no, no. You mustn't do this. Wait a few years, at the very least, Severus."

Severus squared his jaw and growled, "That was my intention, Minerva, until the Dark Lord saw memories of Hermione in my head. _So sorry_ , madam, that I was unable to keep out the greatest Legilimens of all time. In any case, she and I are to be held up as the proudest examples of half-bloods marrying to expand the so-called 'Two Magical Parent' population."

"Then you are going to… to cause her to _conceive_ , as well?" Minerva gasped, clapping her hand to her mouth.

Severus cheeks went warm with embarrassment and his lip curled up. "That is generally something a husband might be expected to do," he said, sounding bored.

"Oh, the poor dear," Minerva moaned, and now Severus felt quite cross. The old bat was making it seem as though he'd kidnapped Hermione and coerced her into a forced union. He shrugged impatiently and shook his head.

" _Really_ , Minerva. I gave the girl a beautiful ring and got down upon one knee and professed my love for her. She happily agreed to marry me. I assure you, there is no dastardly compulsion at play here - merely an acceleration of an existing time frame."

"Oh." Minerva nodded hesitantly. "I see."

Severus heard the portrait of Dumbledore chuckle a little behind him at the misunderstanding. He scowled, not bothering to turn around.

"In any case," Severus said tightly, "I shall need you to make the announcement to the school. It would be most awkward for me to do so. I shall notify you the day after the wedding, when Hermione's already moved her belongings out of Gryffindor Tower. Keep the announcement brief, simple, and straight-forward. Focus on the Ministry's new policy of desiring unions between half-bloods."

"I shall not speak publicly about 'blood status,'" Minerva said firmly, shaking her head. Severus sighed and nodded in conciliation.

"Very well. Then I shall have the Carrows mention that bit in their classes."

Minerva's eyes darkened at the mention of the Carrows. She rose from her chair, nodding. "If that is all, I'm about to be late to teach my third-years how to Transfigure candles into crystal vases."

"That will be all," Severus affirmed, standing from his own chair and giving the elderly witch a polite little bow. He watched Minerva stride confidently from the office. Just as she was about to go, she paused and turned around.

"Take very good care of Miss Granger," she instructed Severus, sounding ever the teacher. "She is very kind, and very clever."

"I know she is," Severus agreed in a low voice. "That is why I love her, Minerva."

She nodded, looking slightly reassured. She turned wordlessly and opened the door, and then she was gone.

"Headmaster?"

Behind Severus, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black had cleared his throat and was attempting to get his younger counterpart's attention. Severus turned round to face the portrait and flicked up his eyebrows expectantly.

"I've just come from my painting in Grimmauld Place," Phineas Nigellus Black informed Severus, who felt a flutter of anxiety in his chest at that news.

"And?" Severus demanded. "Was Potter there?"

"He was," Black nodded. "He was packing up and preparing to leave. I watched him go… he's no longer in the house. He wanted me to tell you, Headmaster - or, rather, to pass information on to Miss Granger. He wants Miss Granger to know this…" Black cleared his throat dramatically and imitated Potter's voice. "'Tell Hermione I've gone to the place where Moony waited out the nights.'"

Severus furrowed his eyebrows and sneered, "The boy needn't be cryptic. I know full well what the damned Shrieking Shack is."

He sighed as he realized Potter was terribly close - in Hogsmeade, if he'd successfully managed to make his way to the Shack. Severus hated the Shrieking Shack with all his soul and had no desire at all to go there, nor for Hermione to do so. But at the very least, Potter was out of Grimmauld Place and, it seemed, had not immediately tried to retrieve Ronald Weasley.

"Thank you, Phineas," Severus mumbled, distracted by the sight of a small school-owned owl fluttering against the outside of his diamond-paned window. Severus walked briskly to admit the bird and took the small note tied to its foot. He broke the crimson wax seal and recognized Hermione's writing - the same writing she'd scrawled on essays for seven years - at once.

" _S, The Brev. Ster. we have been using shall suffice for now, and the new potion may be applied at a later time. Provided you are amenable, I sincerely wish to complete the Mag. Verb. Hon. this evening. Unless I hear otherwise, I shall arrive at eight o'clock. Yours, H."_

Severus felt his lips curl up into a little smile at the note, which was just very _Hermione_ in style - brief, matter-of-fact, and yet fiercely delightful in content. She wanted to put off the terrible side effects of the _Elixir Infecundum_ because she wished to marry him - tonight.

Well, he thought, he could do that. He could marry her tonight. He bore no objection whatsoever to that notion.

* * *

Hermione stood before the mirror in the bathroom and swiped tears out of her eyes. She was very glad she'd not yet put on any cosmetics of any kind.

Years before, when Hermione was nine, her father's mother had passed away, and Hermione had received several heirlooms as an inheritance. The previous year, she'd stowed the three items she cared about the most in her purple bag with its Undetectable Extension Charm, for she wanted to ensure she never lost them. They were an antique strand of pearls from Mikimoto, a silver mirror, and her grandmother's wedding dress.

Hermione had kept the wedding dress safely folded in tissue paper and stowed in a dress box for years, and she'd scarcely thought of it, much less looked at it. But merely knowing it was safe and close made her think lovingly of her Nan, who had often served her tea and played dolls with her as a small girl.

Hermione's Nan had been married in 1951, and her wedding dress was very beautiful indeed. It was tea-length, and Hermione must have been about the same height now as her Nan had been then, for the dress hit Hermione just so upon her calves. It was lace and tulle with a creamy smooth satin lining, and it was the color of fresh milk.

The sweetheart neckline curved elegantly around Hermione's small breasts, with a tulle ruched insert and short sleeves that hugged her thin arms. The basque waist nipped her in and gave her a womanly figure, and the skirt flared out into an elegant, voluminous pouf with the help of a crinoline. There were tiny white buttons all up the back. The dress fit Hermione like a glove, and she felt beautiful in it.

She had Transfigured herself a pair of white satin pumps out of her school shoes, and she'd lovingly put the strand of pearls around her neck. Then she had tamed her wild tressed into smooth waves and conjured a narrow wreath of white baby's breath flowers around her head.

Now she stood before the mirror crying like a fool, wondering if she should bother putting on any makeup at all. She finally settled on a smoothing potion - the stuff she'd made in Potions lessons the year previously that made her skin look unblemished and smooth. She smeared on a little copper eyeshadow and waterproof mascara and a smidge of lip balm, and she surveyed her appearance once more with a shaking breath.

 _Severus is going to be my husband in a very short while_ , Hermione told herself, and that thought sent a jolt of electric joy down her spine.

She turned to the bathroom countertop and stared at the brass pocket-watch that sat there. For a brief moment, she contemplated the fact that Severus had bothered making her a magical object that allowed them to be near one another. Smiling with content gratitude, Hermione picked up the pocket watch and shut her eyes.

" _Oraverit._ "

* * *

Severus was not sure what exactly he expected to see when Hermione Apparated into his rooms.

He did not expect her to look like a bride. _His_ bride.

That was unreasonable, he reckoned, for he knew full well that she'd be coming there tonight to marry him. Why shouldn't she look like a bride?

But they'd had such incredibly short notice, and there she was, in an actual wedding dress that looked like it was from another time. And she had flowers in her hair. He felt his mouth drop open and his eyes flutter a bit as he searched for words.

As Allegri's _Miserere_ rang forth from his old record player, Severus stalked around his armchair out to the rug where she'd appeared and stammered, "Y-you look properly beautiful, Hermione."

She smiled and blushed… actually blushed… and she murmured, "It was my grandmother's dress."

"Oh," Severus nodded. He swallowed heavily. "I never had the honor of meeting her, but I'm certain she would find you do the dress justice."

Hermione grinned widely then and giggled a bit. She quieted and sighed shakily, shifting upon her feet and reaching up to straighten the little wreath of blossoms that wove its way around her chestnut hair.

"I have no idea why I feel nervous," she admitted. "It's not as though this is some big wedding in front of three hundred guests, where I've got to strut down an aisle with organ music blasting. We don't have to dance in front of anyone, nor recite contrite vows and then kiss while everyone cheers and clanks upon glasses. I know you'd despise all of that."

She flushed again and stared down, fumbling her fingers together. Severus felt guilty all of a sudden. She was quite right; he _would_ hate all of that. It sounded terrible to him. But was it what she'd dreamed of since childhood, like every stereotypical small female? He tipped up her chin.

"Is that what you want?" he asked her softly. "Do you want the big, public ceremony? The public kiss? The cake?"

"I just want you," Hermione insisted, and she leaned up to press her lips softly against Severus' cheek, sending a shiver down his spine. Then Hermione added, "I would never turn down cake."

He chuckled once and fingered the delicate flowers in her hair, murmuring again, "You look beautiful." He breathed in her comforting aroma - fresh rain and honeysuckle and verbena. Severus sighed and thought perhaps ordering him to marry her quickly was the only mercy the Dark Lord had ever committed.

He stepped away from her and said seriously, "You realize, Hermione, that to take the _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ is the most weighty and significant of Magical commitments?"

He knew full well that she realized it. But he needed to hear her say it. He needed her consent. She nodded emphatically and smiled meekly. "I understand."

The music on the record player had switched now to the next track on the vinyl. The somber sounds of Maurice Ravel's _Pavane Pour Une Infante Défunte_ on an acoustic guitar began to scratch forth into the room.

Severus let out breath through his parted lips, ignoring the way it shook a bit, and reached inside his frock coat for his wand. He had not dressed any differently than normal, for he had thought Hermione probably would not have wanted him to do so. He did not wish to look silly, after all. But he had combed his hair particularly neatly before she'd come, and he'd scrubbed his face extra hard, and he had checked his appearance in the mirror and thought he'd looked fine. It didn't matter as long as she was happy with him, and as he looked down into her glowing chestnut eyes he thought she seemed perfectly content.

"You really do look decidedly lovely," Severus said, knowing he'd already told her twice, but feeling unable to control himself from doing so. Hermione's eyes crinkled with happiness and her cheeks went a deep crimson as she cast her eyes downward.

"Thank you," she murmured. Then, after a long moment, she sighed and pulled her wand out from her own hidden dress pocket and said, "I'm ready, I think."

Severus nodded once, curtly. "Right," he said. "I've looked up the incantations and studied them carefully. I shall say them first and then you repeat them. Point your wand at my heart and I shall do the same to you."

"All right." Her brown eyes sparkled a bit in the firelight as she looked up at him, and she touched the tip of her vine wand to the chest of his frock coat. Severus felt the wand quivering against him as she shook with nerves, and he tried to smile as warmly as possible down at her as he licked his bottom lip. He pointed his own black wand at Hermione's chest, trying not to look awkward as he angled his hand. He hesitated and asked one final time, "Are you very, very certain that you want this, Hermione? To be married to me… forever?"

She nodded slowly, solemnly. "I am very certain, Severus."

Severus felt a swell of love for her in that moment, something that reassured him, as well, that the forceful and enduring spell was not being undertaken in haste. He squared his jaw and said, "Right, then. Repeat the words I say, altering names and tenses where apprpriate… center and send your magic." She nodded up at him, looking determined and resolute. Severus cleared his throat lightly and said in a voice that sounded like low liquid silk, "I, Severus Snape, bind myself to you, Hermione Granger, with the ancient promise of _Magnus Verbum Honoris_. Let this covenant never be broken. Our souls are bound forevermore."

He paused and shut his eyes for a moment, pushing forth a bit of his magic and waiting as a little vibration shuddered from his body into Hermione's. She shivered and smiled and then said softly, "I, Hermione Granger, bind myself to you, Severus Snape, with the ancient promise of _Magnus Verbum Honoris._ Let this covenant never be broken. Our souls are bound forevermore."

A churning sort of jolt flowed into his chest from her wand, and Severus could not keep the corners of his mouth from turning up at the pleasant warmth.

He licked his bottom lip, and then he spoke again, suddenly feeling a bit breathless.

"This next bit you needn't repeat - Only one of us has to say the great incantation," he explained, and Hermione nodded slowly, her wide eyes shimmering. Severus cleared his throat, hoping he would not sound like a fool as he spoke the words he meant to make his vow to her. He cast his onyx eyes down into her amber ones and hoped his wand wasn't trembling too fiercely against her heart.

"Hermione Jean Granger," he began rather hoarsely, "You have suitably impressed me, Hermione Jean Granger, with your staggering intelligence, your rapturous beauty, and your benevolence. You are a good witch in every way, and I am honored indeed to make myself your husband. Let me now and always thank you for who you are. I vow to encourage you in your endeavors, to cheer your accomplishments, to mourn your sorrows, to listen to your concerns, to be devoted wholly to you. I shall seek to act honorably, to make you never doubt my trustworthiness. From this day until we part, let my soul and yours twine as one, with these as my promises."

Hermione looked up at him with tears properly coursing down her porcelain cheeks, and Severus reached with his left hand to brush them away with the calloused pad of his thumb. He leaned down and kissed away the tears, his rough lips grazing her trembling cheeks. His wand pressed lightly against her heart as he stood back up, and hers was still against his frock coat. Severus cleared his throat again and mumbled gently,

" _Dolor, beatitudo, distancia - nunc nihil sunt. Anima mea, et vita mea - nunc tibi es. Ubi sum, ibi es. Ubi vos, te sequor. Et is indissolubili hoc Magnum Verbum Honoris. Nos simul esse in aeternam."_

The moment the last syllable left his lips, both tips of their wands glowed with a warm, energetic light. A pleasant vibration echoed into Severus' chest from Hermione's wand, and he felt a shudder creep down his arm into Hermione's body. Then there was a burst as the room went black for a moment and Severus felt as though he were floating in his own head, as though he'd fainted standing up. When he 'came to,' he looked into Hermione's wide, disbelieving eyes, and he dropped his wand. It clattered to the floor, having done its duty.

Severus clutched desperately at Hermione's face and kissed her fiercely, overcome suddenly with the way their magic had mingled, with the emotion have having bound himself to her and her to himself. He drew her into him with his lips, with his tongue, groaning into her mouth and hearing her whimper. There was an electric sort of oscillation between their mouths as Hermione staggered frantically backward toward Severus' bed - the bed that he realized they would now share as a couple.

"I love you," she whispered urgently, tossing her own wand carelessly onto his bedside table as her lithe little fingers started working wildly to unfasten the small buttons on Severus' frock coat. There were still tears coursing down her cheeks. "I love you."

Severus caught her wrist at his buttons and she gasped a little. He brought her hand up to his mouth and brushed his rough lips over her knuckles, staring down at her intensely. He used his free hand to brush her cheekbone and then dragged the pad of his thumb over her lip, letting out a low sound of want from the back of his throat. He swallowed and said to her, in his characteristic silky murmur,

"Thank you very much for marrying me, Hermione."

* * *

The night passed in a haze. Sex felt better with Severus after Hermione had bound her soul to his. That was a fact that neither of them could overlook, and so they didn't. For hours, off and on, they made love. Sometimes it was slow and languorous and very, very beautiful. Sometimes it was frantic and desperate and left them in a sticky heap. Hermione found herself with an unquenchable thirst for him - every touch of his skin to hers was electric, and every breath he took was like fresh air into her own lungs. His heart seemed to beat inside her own chest as he thrummed inside of her. It was addictive and wonderful and the tiniest bit frightening.

Once, after spilling himself inside of her, Severus murmured quietly, "I suppose we ought to sleep a while."

"Perhaps," Hermione admitted, and she yawned a little quite against her will. Somehow, she managed to fall asleep curled up against Severus' shoulder, but two hours later she was groggily kissing him as he entered her gently from behind once more.

"Is this real?" Hermione asked him finally, when he'd finished and lay panting upon his back. "What I'm feeling now, it seems too strong. Is it real?"  
"I believe," Severus said carefully, dragging the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip, "that is more real than it has ever been."

She kissed him again, leaning down to press her lips against his, and drifted off to sleep with her ear to his chest.

In the morning, when she made her way to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione resolved not to be embarrassed by the Fat Lady, and so she brazenly Disillusioned herself and clipped out the password, and she marched up to the girls' dormitory to find Lavender Brown the last one still getting ready for breakfast.

"Hermione?" Lavender asked with some measure of disbelief, turning round from where she stood before a full-length mirror plaiting her hair into two neat braids. Lavender scowled at Hermione, at the vintage white dress she wore, and she demanded, "Why are you just now coming in… and why are you wearing a _wedding dress_?"

Hermione cleared her throat delicately. "I believe it is all to be explained this morning," she said softly, and she moved over to her bed and opened her trunk. Severus had told her that Professor McGonagall would make an announcement after he informed her that the marriage had taken place - she had been told of the engagement, apparently. thought she would doubtlessly be shocked by the fact that it had all progressed so quickly.

Lavender stalked quickly over to stand behind Hermione. She cleared her throat primly and said in a very tight voice, "Hermione, have you… have you gotten _married?_ "

Hermione sighed a bit, knowing that today was going to be awkward all around, and she faced Lavender and rolled her eyes. "Yes," she huffed, "I'm married. I got married last night. Satisfied?"

"Here, in the castle?" Lavender asked disbelievingly. Her pale eyes went wide and she whispered, "To _whom_?"

Hermione swallowed heavily and felt her heart race. Thank goodness there was to be one giant, terribly uncomfortable announcement, she considered, rather than she and Severus having to notify everyone all at once. Hermione took a shaking breath and squared her jaw. "To Sev - to the Headmaster. To Professor Snape."

Lavender's mouth dropped open like a fish, and she looked as though someone had just told her the colors purple and pink no longer existed. Then a look of serious resolution came over her peaky face and she grabbed Hermione's shoulder.

"Right," she said firmly. "Come with me."

Hermione wrenched herself away from Lavender and scowled. "Excuse me?"

"I'm taking you to Madam Pomfrey straight away," Lavender insisted. "Something is obviously very wrong - someone's cursed you, or slipped you a potion. Come now, Hermione. Madam Pomfrey shall get it all sorted out for you." She reached again for Hermione's arm, and Hermione recoiled angrily.

"Stop it, Lavender!" she cried roughly, and then she felt rather awful when she saw the expression of hurt and confusion cross the other girl's face. She was not ashamed of Severus, not in the slightest. But she had to admit it would be difficult for anyone else to accept that she was really, truly in love with him. He had made something of a career out of being difficult and unpleasant. Without any further basis for liking the man, Hermione could see why one might not understand an attraction to him straight away. So she was unsurprised, and less angry, when she heard Lavender say softly, crumpling her brow,

"But, Hermione… he's the Headmaster. He was our teacher for six years. And… it's Professor _Snape_. You can't in your right mind…"

"I'm of age, Lavender," Hermione said tersely, deciding that it was not going to work to explain her relationship with Severus to every doubtful soul. "And I bear him great affection. That is the extent of it that you need to know. Now, please, will you help with these buttons so that I can take a quick shower before we're both late for breakfast?"

She turned round and put the back of her wedding dress to Lavender, who confusedly unfastened the small pearl buttons in silence.

* * *

The Great Hall quieted a bit when Hermione stepped through the doors, and about three dozen curious faces turned to ogle her. It was in that instant that Hermione realized Lavender Brown was not very good at keeping her mouth shut, and that rumors had spread through the Great Hall like wildfire in the ten minutes she was running behind everyone else.

Hermione tipped her chin up a little, not looking up to the Staff Table at all, and slid into a bench at the Gryffindor Table. She felt her cheeks grow hot as she took an apple from the fruit bowl and ladled herself a bit of porridge. She pulled out a book from her bag and pretended to read it while nibbling upon her breakfast, but she could hear whispers frantically starting back up all around her. She was able to catch a few words before she resolutely tuned everyone out.

"It _can't_ be true," someone behind her mumbled, "It's just ridiculous."

" _Married?_ I mean, I reckon I could see if they'd just shagged, but..."

"It's _Snape_. Preposterous. I refuse to believe it."

Perhaps what hurt Hermione more than anything else was everyone's apparent inability or unwillingness to accept that there might be a genuine relationship between herself and Severus. From Ginny and Lavender to the anonymous, quiet whispers around her, all Hermione could hear was that Severus was revolting and the match was must be a joke. It angered her and hurt her, but she could scarcely imagine how Severus must feel.

"Good morning, Hermione!"

She glanced up to see Luna Lovegood hovering above her, holding out a large stone. It was lumpy, smooth, and creamy colored with veins of dark green running through it.

"Erm… good morning, Luna," Hermione greeted, and she flicked her eyes down to the smooth stone. "That's lovely!"

"It's a wedding gift!" Luna said serenely, and she held out the large stone further. Hermione felt a bit as though someone had punched her in the stomach. Around her, there was cruelty and disbelief and mockery about her marriage to Severus, but here was Luna with a gift. Hermione's eyes burned a little as she took the heavy stone, still not knowing quite what it was. It didn't matter. It was given in good will.

"Thank you, Luna," she whispered, her voice cracking a little as she stared down at the green-veined rock.

"It's moss agate," Luna explained patiently. "Agates in general are wonderfully healing to have about. They can be used to counteract dangerous potions of many types, though I'm sure Professor Snape knows about that use. But they're also wonderful to keep on a bedside table. If they're near your head while you sleep, you'll have the most wonderful dreams!"

Luna grinned happily and nodded with enthusiasm. Hermione was not sure how true that fact could be, but again was struck by the utter thoughtfulness of the gift. She could not stop the stubborn tear that tumbled out of her eye and trailed down her cheek.

"Thank you, Luna," she said again.

"Congratulations to the happy couple," Luna murmured warmly, and she patted Hermione's shoulder before turning round and walking away. Hermione stared at the moss agate for a very long moment before tucking it carefully into her bag and swiping at her eye with the back of her hand. She returned her attention to her breakfast for a few minutes, until Professor McGonagall's magically-amplified voice boomed decisively through the Great Hall.

"May I have your attention, please? Students? Put down your forks and knives, if you please, and be silent. Attention to the front."

The students of Hogwarts had learned quickly over the past few weeks that discipline was no longer a joke at the school, so even though it was trusty old Professor McGonagall asking for attention, all conversations went immediately quiet.

"Thank you," Professor McGonagall trilled, and then she coughed rather delicately as she lowered her wand from her throat and sighed, turning over her shoulder to stare helplessly at Severus for a moment. Hermione actually felt rather terrible for Professor McGonagall just then, as she realized how awkward her marriage to Severus was for other people, too.

How could Professor Flitwick give her anything less than an Outstanding on her Charms N.E.W.T.? The poor man would feel terrified of Severus if he were to mark down the Headmaster's wife on her exams. Not that Hermione planned on doing poorly on Professor Flitwick's exams, but, still…

If she were to break the rules (something she had been known to do) and was caught by Pomona Sprout in the corridors, how could the head of House Hufflepuff be expected to assign her detentions? Particularly, Hermione considered, now that detentions often entailed the use of Unforgivable Curses? How could it be expected that Hermione would be held to the same standards as the other students?

She wouldn't, of course. She wouldn't be held to the same standards because she wasn't the same anymore. She was the wife of the Headmaster, and even as an eighteen-year-old (perhaps especially then) this was more of a mark of shame than a distinction of honor.

Hermione felt a sudden flush of anxiety as Professor McGonagall turned round to speak again. The old witch cleared her throat carefully, and beside her Hermione saw Severus perched rather tightly in the Headmaster's chair, his hands folded together upon the table. Even from here, she could see his knuckles were white with tension, and his lips were pursed a bit with unease. He looked severe and disagreeable, if Hermione was honest.

 _That's not helping, Severus,_ she thought. _Try not to look as though we're sentencing everyone to be executed._

"I would like to extend my most heartfelt congratulations," Minerva McGonagall began, though there was empty sort of disdain behind her words, "to our headmaster, Professor Snape, and to his new bride."

Unsurprisingly, a great number of faces turned toward Hermione in that instant, and the Great Hall erupted with furious whispers.

" _See? See?_ I told you so… This is absurd. He can't… no, she's too… _what? What?_ "

The words circulating around were of disbelief, of shock, of thinly-veiled ridicule. Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot at once, felt her ears ring, and she tried to swallow but found herself quite unable to do so. She glanced further down the Gryffindor table and saw Ginny Weasley staring at her, just like everyone else. Ginny smiled sadly, and Hermione suddenly wished the two of them had not been arguing so much recently. It would have been nice to have Ginny for a friend just then.

"Miss Hermione Granger has… erm… wed… Professor Snape… and we wish them all the best of luck and happiness as they… erm..." Professor McGonagall was stumbling all over her words as she struggled to speak over the drone in the Hall and to overcome her own apparent discomfort.

Hermione shut her eyes and huffed, feeling frustrated. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that Severus had risen from the Headmaster's Chair and was looming imperiously over the Staff Table.

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall," he clipped rather harshly, and McGonagall sat down quickly, seeming grateful to be relieved from her botched announcement duties. The students in the hall quieted the very instant that Severus stood up. He sniffed lightly and glared around the Great Hall. Around him, the Hogwarts staff looked just as alarmed as the student body, and the reactions would have been amusing if Hermione wasn't so preoccupied with feeling humiliated.

There seemed to be three factions among the staff: the Shocked, the Saddened, and the Bored. In the Shocked category were Professors Flitwick, Sprout, Slughorn, Hooch, and Sinistra. These professors in particular bore expressions upon their faces of abject incredulity, with eyes wide and mouths agape. Then there were those who looked as though they'd been informed of a death. Professors Vector, Sprout, and Trelawney fit nicely into this category, as did Hagrid, who was staring straight at Hermione and shaking his head (having moved to 'Saddened' very quickly from being 'Shocked.'). Then there were the instructors who just looked bored, and Hermione realized they'd known about the marriage already and thus were not receiving any news. The Carrows, for example, seemed unaffected by McGonagall's announcement. Hermione figured Severus must have informed them in private in order to maintain appearances with the Death Eaters. The centaur Firenze, who co-taught Divination, stood in the corner with a blank expression upon his countenance. Hermione was not certain how Firenze knew already, but he seemed so unsurprised that she was convinced he was not being told anything novel.

Severus cleared his throat once and spoke, his voice a glossy clip. "I am well-aware that there are some among you who may view this news as fodder for a disdain of the school, or of myself. I do not much care for the opinions of others, particularly on matters such as this. Please be advised that… If I had wanted a twelve-year-old's advice on marriage, _Mr. Turnbridge_ , I would have asked directly. Be silent."

He glared down at a second-year Gryffindor who had begun whispering madly to a student beside him. The boy reddened and nodded, shrinking into himself like a tortoise. Around the Great Hall, students shifted on their benches rather anxiously. Severus sniffed again and continued,

"This announcement changes precisely nothing for any of you in your everyday lives. I advise you to think nothing more of it, much less to discuss it among yourselves… I am not foolish enough to believe that will not happen, wont as you all are to mindless gossip. But be advised that the Ministry of Magic is strongly encouraging those of half-blood ancestry to enter into marriages such as this in order to strengthen the 'two-parent Magical population.'"

There was another eruption of noise, then, as students buzzed among themselves. Severus' words meant two things, both of them sensational. The Ministry was to have a policy on marriage, first of all. Secondly, that policy was primarily for the purpose of procreation… and Professor Snape had married Hermione Granger under that policy… meaning that Professor Snape was going to _procreate_ with Hermione Granger. The scandalous broadcast had sent a shockwave through a Great Hall. Severus waited a brief moment, and then he hissed,

"Silence!"

The Hall fell quiet as the grave. As intrigued as the students were, they were still terrified of Severus. He simply _loomed_ for a moment, letting his intimidating presence wash over the Hogwarts community before he said softly,

"You have five minutes to finish your breakfasts. Tardiness to any lessons today is to be punished with a minimum of three detentions. Any lapse in productivity will not be tolerated."

He sat back down and took a delicate drink of pumpkin juice from his goblet, and Hermione once again felt her cheeks grow very warm with embarrassment and worry. He'd not been maudlin; he'd not spoken of how pleased he was to marry her. That was all well and good - it would have been terribly out-of-character for Severus to do so. He'd handled it all wonderfully, she thought… right up until he'd been a bit of a wanker to the entire student body by cutting short breakfast and threatening them with torturous detentions.

Indeed, many glared turned toward her as the students registered that not only was she now married to their Headmaster, but that their Headmaster was still something of an oppressor. Hermione tensed and held her breath as judgmental eyes looked her up and down from all sides.

 _Married to the enemy,_ most of the Gryffindors seemed to say, _and thus the enemy herself._

 _Half-blood at best,_ most Slytherin eyes seemed to sneer, _and I still don't buy that she's not a Mudblood._

 _Reckon she'll fall pregnant within a month or two,_ said most Ravenclaw stares, _and her life'll be over. Shame._

 _She always seemed nice enough,_ it seemed the Hufflepuffs wanted to say, _but look at what's happened now!_

Hermione rather wished she had Severus' gift of Legilimency at that moment, but then quickly realized that would have been a curse. She could read people's thoughts plainly enough upon their faces without hearing their internal narratives.

She turned back to the apple and porridge she'd been eating, long gone cold. She warmed the porridge with a brief charm and scarfed it quickly, knowing she was just as subject to Severus' time limit on breakfast as anyone else.

"Erm… Hermione?" Ginny Weasley said quietly, sliding down the bench toward her. Hermione gulped down the hot porridge in her mouth and sniffed self-defensively.

"Morning, Ginny," she said, trying to sound as though today were any other day. She braced herself for the inevitable rude comments she knew she should expect from Ginny, but instead the other girl blushed deeply and said,

"I hope he makes you happy, Hermione." Ginny blinked and licked her lips carefully, casting down her eyes with a bit of shame. "I'm sorry I was cruel. I didn't understand. I still don't, and I can't pretend to. But it isn't my business, I suppose. I don't wish for there to be this terrible tension between us, and I hope somehow we can be friends again."

Hermione thought that was awfully big of Ginny, among all the madness, and so she nodded and smiled a little. "I would like that."

* * *

By three in the afternoon, Severus had entertained no fewer than five staff members and four Howlers in his office. The angriest of all the staff members, probably, was Hagrid. The old gamekeeper felt he'd been personally deceived in some way by not being informed of the budding romance between Severus and Hermione, and he was crushed and heartbroken to see Hermione married off to Severus. He voiced that opinion - loudly - until Dumbledore's portrait calmly told him to go check after the gnome infestation that was rumored to be rampant in the school gardens.

The Howlers were from parents who had received owls from their children. _Unwise,_ Severus thought, _to send an angry letter to the school at a time like this._ He tried to ignore the shrieking envelopes, but the one from Neville Longbottom's grandmother was especially vile.

" _My dear sir - I can only hope this letter finds you in ill health so that poor Miss Granger is soon enough rendered a widow! I find it utterly preposterous that a man your age should take a bride who is barely counted as an adult in the eyes of even the Ministry. Furthermore, she is still your student, as are many other pupils, in case you have forgotten! The notification that the Headmaster of Hogwarts has married a current student comes among much other worrying news of ill treatment of students. I am shocked, appalled, and disgusted. There is no excuse for your predatory behavior, Mr. Snape, and I find you to a repulsive and loathsome beast! Good day!"_

Perhaps Augusta Longbottom did not realize, Severus considered, that angering Severus would give him every legal right to treat Neville Longbottom the same way his parents had been treated. He was not Bellatrix and he would never use the Cruciatus upon anyone so far as to drive them to insanity. Nonetheless, he thought bitterly, the old Mrs. Longbottom would do well to remember that her grandson was in a vulnerable place, surrounded by dangerous people. He watched the Howler destroy itself and sighed.

Septima Vector came in around two-thirty, strutting through the doorway in crimson velvet robes and looking stern as ever.

"Headmaster," she said tightly, and Severus scowled a bit at her tone.

"Good afternoon, Septima," Severus greeted her, setting down her quill. Professor Vector stepped further into the office and pinched her lips.

"Hermione Granger is my brightest pupil," she said without any further pretense. Severus opened his mouth to say something, but Vector continued, "I have only four students in Advanced Arithmancy this term, and only I whom I expect to earn an 'Outstanding' upon the N.E.W.T. That is Miss Granger. I happen to know that my subject area is her favorite. Someday she might be a particularly skilled Curse-Breaker, or an author of texts. She's got a bit of Bridget Wenlock in her."

"I am well aware of Ms. Granger's predisposition for Arithmancy," Severus said coolly. He carefully altered the pronunciation of Hermione's honorific, but left her surname intact. He assumed that she would keep her surname. "Is there something specific you need, Septima?"

Septima Vector sighed briskly. "I know you do not put much stock into the arts that predict the future, Severus," she admitted. "I know you are a man who values constancy and rigidity of formula in your subject material."

Severus frowned but flicked his eyebrows up in assent. Septima continued,

"However, I wish for you to know that I have run number charts this morning… for you and Miss Granger under various circumstances." She extracted several sheets of parchment from her robes and handed them to Severus, who furrowed his brow and stared at them. They were a knotty patchwork of numbers in rows and columns, some scratched out and replaced, others underlined or circled. Severus had never taken the elective course in Arithmancy and had only rudimentary skill in the subject. He shrugged briskly at Septima.

"And?"

Septima Vector coughed delicately. "Might I ask, Headmaster, whether you partook in a vow of _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ to seal your marriage to Miss Granger?"

"Indeed I did," Severus admitted, hesitance creeping through his voice. He tented his fingertips upon the desk. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," Vector began, "When I was running charts, I started by attempting to run them for you individually - that is, for your individual life paths. The problem I encountered was that there were no individual life paths. No matter what happens at this point, any chart I make for either of you directly affects the other, wholly and completely. I attempted to write a chart predicting the future should your marriage fail - forgive me, but I found it a reasonable variable. However, the chart would not complete. The equations simply made so sense. What I found was that your marriage _can not end_ , except in death. I concluded there must have been a vow of _Magnum Verbum Honoris…_ something, I admit, about which I have heard, but something I have never experienced first-hand."

Severus swallowed heavily. He looked down at the number charts again and squared his jaw. "You still seem quite concerned, Septima."

The Arithmancy professor sighed again and nibbled her bottom lip anxiously. "It's just - I was unable to complete _any_ chart, Severus, where either of you…"

She trailed off then, and Severus felt a sinking feeling in his gut. "Where either of us _what_?" he demanded, crinkling the parchments in his fist as he grew irritated. Septima parted her lips a little and said sorrowfully,

"I was unable to complete any chart that extended beyond five years," she admitted. "Sometimes they ended much sooner. Sometimes farther out toward that five year mark. Always close together. But love life? No. You've cursed her, Severus…"

Septima sounded quite emotional now, as the normally stoic witch snatched back her number charts and glared petulantly at the Headmaster. "You might have simply married the girl, you know. This vow you've taken… one bound within it can not live long without the other. If you were to fall for any reason, so too would she. There is nothing I could do, no numbers or equations or variables or changes… nothing could make her an old woman."

"Why are you telling me this?" Severus demanded softly, his voice a mournful hiss in the quiet of the office. "If nothing can be done, then why are you telling me this?"

"There was only one thing," Septima said, and she sounded a little confused, "one word that kept coming up… it extended charts farther than anything else, and once I began inserting it into equations, I saw open pathways… no guarantees, no end games… but possibilities, perhaps."

"A word." Severus shook his head and tossed up a shoulder in confusion. "A word. What word?"

Septima Vector pawed anxiously through the sheets of number charts until she found the one she was looking for, and then she thrust it forth to Severus. She jabbed her finger down and spelled aloud, "' _L-O-C-K-E-T_.'"

* * *

Severus stalked up to Malfoy Manor with a veil of artifical confidence. His left arm was on fire, and he knew exactly why. But when he admitted himself through the front door and walked briskly up the stone stairwell, he adopted an air of nonchalant ignorance.

He entered the dining room and saw a small but familiar crowd gathered. Lucius Malfoy looked more haggard than ever, and possibly drunk, where he sat somewhat slumped in an ornate chair. Beside him, looking significantly more regal and put-together, was Narcissa. Two chairs down was Bellatrix, who raised her eyebrows and drummed her fingertips, feigning boredom. Across from her, in a visual dichotomy for the ages, was the pink-sheathed figure of Dolores Umbridge. Around her neck, the dull yellow locket still hung, and Severus swallowed a little and quickly averted his eyes at the sight of it. There were a few others around the table - Yaxley, Travers, and Selwyn. At the head of the table, as always, was Voldemort, and before him Nagini was coiled in a content-looking pile.

Severus could not help remembering that Ronald Weasley was being kept captive somewhere in the house, and that Harry Potter was hiding in Hogsmeade, and that distracted him long enough that he must have looked blank in the face, for someone cleared their throat in an odd way. Severus snapped to.

"Severus," Voldemort greeted, "please sit down."

Severus did, leaving three seats between himself and Dolores Umbridge so that he was rather far away from everyone else.

"I understand congratulations are in order," Voldemort said smoothly, drawing his fingertips over Nagini's scales. Severus flicked his eyes around the table, trying to discern how it was the Dark Lord had discovered his marriage so quickly.

"Draco sent an owl this morning," said Narcissa, "and so did Amycus Carrow."

"I see," Severus murmured. He turned to Voldemort. "I had intended to come later this evening, My Lord, to speak with you directly… in private…" He dragged his eyes toward Bellatrix as if to express to her that he had no wish to discuss this issue in the woman's presence. She just smirked and raised an eyebrow up in sarcastic flirtation.

"Well, here you are now," Voldemort pronounced. "You have documentation? Or witnesses?"

So the Dark Lord did not entirely believe Severus. He shifted a little in his seat. "It was _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ , My Lord."

Across the table, Bellatrix gasped a little, and Narcissa Malfoy sat up much straighter.

"Oh, my! _Hem-hem!_ " exclaimed Dolores Umbridge from beside Severus, and he scowled at her. Bellatrix put her hands flat upon the table and glared at Severus,

"You've bound yourself to that little _wench_ for all eternity?" she sneered. "You really are a bloody fool, aren't you, Snape?"

"Be silent, Bellatrix!" Voldemort snapped at her in a hiss, and her eyes went wide as her cheeks darkened. She looked as though she'd swallowed a frog as she shrank back and murmured,

"Forgive me, My Lord."

Voldemort narrowed his reptilian eyes at Bellatrix for a long moment before saying, "All of the rest of you… out. Severus, stay."

The others in attendance rose immediately and made a swift departure through the French doors, which were quickly shut with a little _click_.

"Now, then," Voldemort said matter-of-factly to Severus, "The Great Word of Honor. Awfully expeditious of you - I am grateful you followed my orders so quickly. But so _thoroughly_. Why, Severus?"

Severus hesitated. "I did not have any desire for a grand ceremony, My Lord," he admitted. "It would have been quite against my nature. The announcement was made this morning to the student body… House-elves are moving her belongings to my quarters tonight, and -"

"And you'll have her pregnant soon enough, will you?" Voldemort asked smoothly, petting Nagini thoughtfully. Severus felt his cheeks redden, and he cleared his throat a little. He decided to give an answer that was neither an untruth nor anything likely to get a Cruciatus Curse hurled at him.

"I should think, My Lord, that what went on between myself and Ms. Granger last night was an… enthusiastic… entry into traditional marriage activities. The _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ rather strengthens one's appetite for -"

"I did not ask whether or not she sufficiently aroused you, Severus," Voldemort sneered, "I am asking whether or not there will be a swift and conscious effort for the girl to conceive a symbol of the Ministry's commitment to the Magical-born population."

Severus felt nauseated with humiliation and disgust. So, even if Hermione _were_ to fall pregnant, any child of theirs would be quickly snatched up by Voldemort as a totem of Eugenics… and based on a fallacy, at that, since Hermione was truly Muggle-born. The deception would get them all killed - Severus, Hermione, and some unknown small child. It was unacceptable. Knowing he had to lie convincingly, Severus threw up every mental defense he had. Boundless still lakes with black starlit skies overhead filled his mind. He squared his jaw and said to Voldemort,

"I shall make every attempt to put a child in her as quickly as possible, My Lord."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, Severus knew that there were charts saying they'd both be dead within five years. There were enemies all around. There were N.E.W.T.s to finish. There was absolutely no way Hermione would conceive - not on his watch.

But Voldemort seemed convinced, and he nodded his satisfaction. "Go back to Hogwarts, Severus," he said boredly, flicking his wrist in dismissal. "You undoubtedly have much business to attend to as Headmaster… and a pretty young bride waiting for you in your bed."

Severus rose and bowed a bit, turning to stride from the room.

"Severus?" Voldemort called after him nonchalantly, and Severus turned round to raise his eyes hesitantly. The Dark Lord looked rather amused and said, "You're not wearing a wedding ring."

"Oh…" Severus glanced down at his bare left hand. "No, My Lord. Such trappings… well, suffice it to say that the connection between two people bound with _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ is strong enough to not require jewelry."

"But others around you can not see your powerful bond," Voldemort said rather gleefully, and he beckoned with a bony finger. "Come."

Severus felt a sense of dread as he stepped toward the Dark Lord, who held his wand up in the air and shut his eyes, thinking hard as he drew the tip of his wand in a neat circle. The powerful Dark wizard managed to conjure a fairly impressive-looking ring, which, when he handed it to Severus, felt heavy and solid. It was a very dark grey metal, almost black in color, and shiny except for a band of brushed finish around the outside. It looked almost menacing. Severus swallowed heavily.

"Put it on." Voldemort watched carefully as Severus slipped the ring onto his finger. Severus anticipated some sort of curse or spell to hit him when he did, but he felt no different with the ring on than with it off.

"Tungsten carbide," Voldemort said with a bit of self-satisfaction. "Very strong, very hard. Can only be removed by shattering it should it become stuck." He smirked up at Severus. "But a married man needs a visible symbol for the public, no?"

"Of course, my Lord," Severus agreed, and he bowed again. "Thank you." He turned to walk from the room, and this time Voldemort let him go.

He was almost out of Malfoy Manor when he saw Dolores Umbridge in an adjoining sitting-room, speaking in a quiet but still squeaky voice to Yaxley. Severus paused and thought hard for a moment, and then he glided into the sitting-room.

"Yaxley, would you be so kind as to give me a moment to speak with Madam Umbridge?" Severus flicked his mouth up unkindly at Yaxley, who shrugged and left the room briskly. Severus cast a nonverbal _Muffliato_ after Yaxley left.

"Hello, Severus," Dolores greeted him, and Severus wanted nothing more than to slap her straight across the face. Aside from being impermissible (due to her being not only female, but a high-ranking Ministry official), unwise, and rather immature, the appeal was strong. Severus had never been quite so repulsed by a human as he was by Dolores, but tonight he needed to finish a conversation with her. Before he could speak, though, she said in her too-cheery tone, "I am glad you stopped in on way out the door. I had meant to ask if you would be so kind as to send over Hogwarts' student records to the Ministry."

Severus frowned. "Which records?" he asked.

"Oh! _Hem-hem!_ All of them!" Dolores clarified gleefully. "We must know which students and alumni of Hogwarts for the past seventy years or so have been of Mudblood origin. The school keeps careful record of parentage. You see, we've had quite the issue with, erm… ' _runners_.' We've had to initiate quite the effort to track down those unwilling to face the charges against them. This would be easier done with proper records to not only identify and find these criminals, but also to convict them in the Wizengamot. So, if you please… I shall need those records as soon as it is convenient for you. Shall I expect them tomorrow?"

Severus squared his jaw and growled a little. "I shall send them promptly," he promised with a little nod. Then he decided to do what it was he'd come in the room for in the first place. He pulled up the palm of his right hand and centered all of his magic in his solar plexus, packing it into a whirling, dense ball. He sent it forth from his hand in a steady stream of energy and thought, ' _Confundo!'_

The Confundus Charm hit Dolores Umbridge like a sudden hit of a drug, and she shuddered in place and looked momentarily as though she might faint before recovering. Her eyes were a bit glassy as she smiled like a mannequin and reached behind her neck to unclasp the silver chain of her necklace.

"Did I ever get round to showing you my new bit of jewelry?" Dolores asked, and Severus feigned interest.

"No, indeed not," he said, taking the locket quickly from her and stuffing it into the inside pocket of his frock coat. "It's lovely."

"Yes… do take it to Miss Granger as a wedding gift, will you?" Dolores suggested, "On behalf of the Ministry?"

"Splendid idea," Severus nodded briskly, his voice low and smooth as he focused on the Confundus Charm's specifics. "You won't remember ever wearing it in the first place, will you, Dolores?"

"Wearing what?" she asked, and Severus nodded.

"Precisely. Good evening, Dolores."

He strode hastily from the sitting-room, leaving a rather confused-looking Dolores Umbridge in his wake. He lifted his _Muffliato_ as he left the room, and as he walked from Malfoy Manor he heard Yaxley and Dolores Umbridge quietly resume their conversation about Ministry employees forging family trees.

Severus made his way out through the gate on the edge of the grounds, feeling heavy and melancholy. He could practically feel the locket in his frock coat, and he knew at once something was wrong with it. Then he glanced down to the 'wedding band' Voldemort had put on his finger, and he thought perhaps there was something wrong with that, too.

All he could hope was that Hermione would have at least one answer or another, and that being in her presence might improve his ever-worsening mood to some degree.

* * *

"The most real and ever-present danger to the Magical community is a widespread discovery of our powers by the Muggle world at large. Say, for example, that a breach of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy were to occur whilst millions of Muggles watched on their telly-visioning devices! How could Ministry Obliviators or International Task Forces possibly be expected to effectively eliminate the knowledge of the Magical world from so many Muggles?"

Alecto Carrow was pacing rather anxiously in front of the seventh-year Muggle Studies class, her hands knitting into one another tightly behind the back of her dark brocade robes. It was unseasonably warm, and though the windows had been flung open and a little Cooling Charm placed upon the classroom, Alecto's brow glistened with sweat. She snorted a bit and continued snidely,

"Then what would those same Muggles do once they had widespread knowledge of our powers? They would seek to steal them. They would seek to harvest our magic from us - kill us, destroy us, but take our magic for themselves. Their technology is now to the point where this might be a dangerous and real possibility. The only way for the Magical community to survive is to separate itself entirely and wholly from the Muggle world. All interaction with Muggles in modern society is to be considered extremely dangerous and most unwise. It should be illegal, probably."

Hermione felt her brow crumple as she watched Alecto speak, but she knew she could say nothing. She thought of Carlotta Pinkstone, the witch who had famously campaigned for the repeal of the International Statute of Secrecy and had spent years in Azkaban for it. Carlotta Pinkstone had been known to be extremely gifted with wandless magic, Hermione knew. Suddenly she found herself wanting Pinkstone's Chocolate Frog card, just so she could look at someone who was the opposite of Alecto Carrow.

The lesson that day seemed interminable - full of hate and paranoia, and Hermione was anxious to gather her books and be gone from the classroom as quickly as possible when Alecto dismissed them. She hustled out into the corridor and was briskly walking away from the Muggle Studies classroom when she heard a soft voice behind her.

"Hermione?"

She whirled round and rolled her eyes when she saw that it was Ginny Weasley. Hermione simply was not in the mood just now for a lengthy discussion with Ginny about anything. Conversations with Ginny tended to make her very tired. But then Ginny just nodded gently and held out a small scroll, which Hermione could see had been sealed with a messy glob of dark red candle wax.

"What's this?" Hermione asked, pulling over into a secluded alcove of the corridor. Ginny followed her and a little line of worry appeared between her ginger eyebrows.

"Erm… it's… it's from Harry," she whispered, and she swallowed visibly. Hermione felt her eyes go wide, felt her mouth drop open, and she demanded in a low hiss,

"Harry?! How did you…"

Ginny chomped anxiously on her lip. "I have my ways of contacting people, too, Hermione," she said rather cryptically. Then she looked as though she was going to cry, and she said in a cracked whisper, "Ron's in great danger. I don't know if you heard it on the radio. That she-devil Dolores Umbridge came on, Mum said, and announced that Ron had been 'apprehended attempting to thieve from the Ministry of Magic on behalf of Undesirable Number One, Harry Potter.' They're holding him captive. Mum said the announcement was made to lure Harry to Malfoy Manor, but then Harry got in contact with by…" She paused and raised her eyes to Hermione, her cheeks coloring. "Well, anyway, he was in the Shrieking Shack. But you knew that. He wanted me to give you this."

She glanced down to the scroll that Hermione now held in her hands. Hermione sighed lightly and asked Ginny with a frown, "Are the Order going to try to rescue Ron?"

Ginny gulped and her cheeks darkened further. "I can't talk to you about it any more, I'm afraid," she admitted. "I was just meant to give you that letter from Harry."

"Is he still there?" Hermione demanded, squeezing the scroll. "Can I go and see him?"

Ginny shook her head vehemently. "No," she insisted. "He's gone somewhere else. I can't discuss it any more, Hermione. Just read the letter from Harry; whatever he wants you to know is inside it. Goodbye."

With that, Ginny turned on her heel and walked quickly away, and Hermione was left feeling shaken and disturbed in the corridor. Knowing full well she would be tardy to Advanced Arithmancy, Hermione turned her back to the wall and slumped a little as she unfurled the scroll. The small wax seal crumbled weakly and the parchment felt dry and old. She frowned as she read Harry's trademark messy scrawl.

' _Dear Hermione… or are you to be addressed as 'Madam Snape' from now on? I can't say I was the least bit pleased to hear you'd married Snape. I can't pretend to understand it. I saw him kill Dumbledore, and to know he's your husband now changes a lot of things, not many for the better._

 _But I guess Congratulations are in order just the same. You've always been a dear friend, Hermione, and the smartest person I've ever met. I can't imagine you would do something like this without a damn good reason._

 _So, Congratulations, I suppose._

 _Ron and I were caught when we were trying to get something very important from the Ministry of Magic - a locket that Dolores Umbridge had. I'm not sure if she's still got it. The important thing is that we are pretty sure it is one of V's 'receptacles.' Somehow that locket needs to get away from Umbridge and into your hands or mine. I would say Ron's, but it seems he's in a bit of a pickle at the moment._

 _Don't come looking for me, Hermione. I know exactly where you are, and you should allow me to contact you rather than the other way round - safer for everyone. I've been told to rest assured you are still my friend. I really hope that's true. I need a good friend just about now… and a clever one, too._

 _Harry'_

Hermione frowned deeply and sighed a shuddering little breath. Severus had told her that when he'd used Legilimency on Ron, the young man had shoved forth thoughts of an amber locket around Umbridge's neck. Severus had no idea what the significance of the locket was, but now Hermione did. It was a Horcrux.

She took out her wand and swept it over the paper. " _Evanesco,_ " she murmured, and the scroll Vanished into non-being.

* * *

It was past nine o'clock when Hermione shoved her textbooks into her bag and left the Gryffindor Common Room. She'd decided it would be most wise to spend a few hours every evening studying in the Common Room so that her fellow students did not perceive her to believe herself entitled or 'special' just because she'd married the Headmaster.

Of course, the idea that a few hours in a Common Room could override the widespread revulsion, judgment, and ridicule that Hermione had been forced to endure was entirely ludicrous.

The whole day had been hell, she thought as she ambled through the corridors and made her way down to Severus' - and her own - dungeon chambers. At dinner, Severus had left quickly, and she'd figured he'd been summoned with his Mark. But that only served to put the cherry atop a terrible day following the morning announcement of their marriage.

There were the whispers behind her back, and in front of her face, in corridors and classrooms. There were the odd, appraising stares from seemingly every pair of eyes. Hermione thought perhaps she would have preferred direct comments, but none came. Only paranoia-inducing stares and whispers, for the entire day. Hell.

So when she walked into Severus' - _their_ \- sitting-room and found it empty, she sank into an armchair, lit a fire in the fireplace, and cried for a half hour solid. Finally she grew tired of crying and stripped off her clothes in a bit of a rage, scrubbing herself furiously in the black-tiled shower. She came out wrapped in a plush black towel and was rummaging through her trunk (which the House Elves had brought down) for a proper nightgown when the door opened and quietly shut.

"Good evening," Hermione huffed rather harshly. Severus' feet clicked softly upon the floor as he stalked into the room. When Hermione saw his dragon-hide boots appear in her peripheral vision, she glanced up from where she knelt before her trunk. Severus was looking down at her with something very strange in his eyes, an expression Hermione was having difficulty reading. "What's wrong now?" she asked, feeling impatient and frustrated.

Severus swallowed, his Adam's Apple bobbing as his cold black eyes bored into Hermione's and then coursed down over her body with a searing dark light.

"Today was very… odd… and not entirely pleasant for me," he admitted tightly, shifting a bit upon his feet. Hermione frowned as she watched his hands ball into white-knuckled fists at his sides and then release. She could sense waves of jittery disquiet coming off of him, but there was something else there, too.

It wasn't visible. It was as if Hermione could feel it inside her own veins, a sensation of dread and anxiety that resided in her body but did not belong to her. Suddenly she understood exactly what Severus meant. He'd been feeling her emotions all day, and it felt, as he'd said, 'odd.'

That explained quite a bit, Hermione reckoned… why mid-afternoon she'd been struck with a sudden and inexplicable spike of fear she could neither pin down nor explain. Why tonight at dinner her arm had started aching - distantly, somewhere in the marrow of her bones and yet not in her own arm at all. She'd glanced up to see Severus rising briskly from the Headmaster's Chair, knowing he'd been summoned by Voldemort.

It had been the _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ , she knew. Their marriage vows - their bonding to one another - extended so deeply into the level of the soul that their perceptions, emotions, and experiences were now inextricably linked. In many ways, she knew, it had the potential to be wonderful and to bring them ever closer together. In other ways, it could be very unpleasant and even dangerous. She stared up into Severus' eyes and studied the way they glimmered in the firelight, raven-black and sharp and flinty.

"I can feel you, too," she murmured, nodding her understanding. "It is… strange. Wonderful. Frightening."

Severus reached down to where she knelt before her trunk, where she'd been searching for a nightgown. She had not yet cast a drying charm upon her hair, and it hung in damp clumps around her face. Severus brushed his slender fingers over her sodden tresses and then delved his hand against her scalp, tangling his fingers into the wet strands and rubbing a bit at her scalp. Hermione felt her eyes flutter shut at the feel of him, at the sensation of warm energy flowing from his body into hers at the spot where he was touching her.

A low little sound made its way, quite of its own accord, out of the spot in Hermione's throat where she kept her magic, and she felt a jolt of moisture between her legs when she sensed Severus' heart and breath accelerating.

"Stand up," he ordered her, his normally silky voice a hoarse whisper. Hermione opened her eyes and looked to his again, and now she saw nothing but hunger there. He wanted her. Now. She could feel that more strongly than any feeling of her own.

Hermione shut the lid of her trunk and pushed off it to stand, feeling a bit woozy on her feet as she looked up into Severus' voracious gaze. She studied his face for a long moment and admired how his skin looked warm and smooth in the light of the fire, how his strong brows were furrowed with concentration.

She could no longer disentangle her own arousal from his. She felt them both, strong and pulsing, inside her body and mind, and they fed off of one another until Hermione felt such a frenzy of energy that she thought she needed to scream or jump up and down to release it. Instead, she just reveled in the sight of Severus' hands reaching for the black towel wrapped around her torso.

The pad of his thumb flicked lightly at the terry cloth where it was tucked into itself, and the towel suddenly gave way and fell to the floor, pooling at Hermione's feet. She shivered a little, suddenly nude before him, and she watched his ravenous eyes looking over every inch of her. She felt a punch of excitement that sent more wetness between her legs, but she was quite unable to tell whether that excitement belonged to her or to Severus. It didn't really matter, she thought. Now it belonged to both of them. If she could feel it, then so could he.

"Touch me, please," she whispered, her voice mingling with the crackling of the fire. Severus reached out his trembling hand and swept his calloused fingertips over her collarbone, down over the soft curve of her breast and the flat smoothness of her belly. His long fingers delved gently between her legs, urging her thighs apart, and Hermione obliged. She tipped her head back and clenched her eyes shut and was unable to suppress a soft moan at the instant his fingertips made contact with her sex, gliding around her clitoris and entrance with an elegant rhythm.

Her own hands drifted aimlessly out and fumbled blindly for the buttons on his frock coat, and as he caressed her body, she unfastened the buttons one by one. Finally she was able to push the coat back and off of his shoulders, and it joined the towel upon the ground.

There was a light touch upon her lips - Severus' rough mouth on hers, and Hermione shuddered helplessly. She was about to move on to start working upon his white dress shirt when she heard Severus growl,

"Get on the bed. Right now."

She had no idea what had him in such a mood tonight, why he was so hungry for her. But she found that she did not mind one bit as his hands moved to grasp her waist firmly and turned her round, pushing her forward gently.

When they reached the bed, Hermione climbed up as gracefully as she could manage onto the duvet and watched with fascination as Severus nearly tore his white shirt from his trousers and removed it as hastily as possible. The boots and socks were kicked off, and the placket of his trousers was soon open. He shoved them down, along with his underwear, and Hermione gulped when she saw his erection spring forth, long and thick and visibly throbbing in the firelight.

She wanted him badly, and his own arousal was so present in her veins that she thought she might ignite from the combined desperation. She leaned back hesitantly against the pillows as Severus crawled atop the bed, looking rather like a panther stalking its prey. His dark eyes shone brighter than ever, and his hair hung in front of his face in a way that was oddly alluring. Hermione groaned a little and reached between her own thighs, rubbing lightly at her nub in an effort to assuage the buzzing sense of want inside of her.

She suddenly found herself extremely glad she'd just taken a shower, for Severus was parting her legs forcefully and lowering his head between her thighs before she knew what was happening. Hermione gasped and tensed self-consciously, wondering distantly if Severus would be disgusted by the smell or taste of her. It seemed an odd and even repulsive thing for him to do, to put his mouth _there._ But then his tongue dragged firmly over her clitoris and she didn't much care about anything other than how it felt.

She drove her head back against the pillow and gasped in shock. "Severus!" she cried, and then again and again she whispered and moaned his name as her fingertips dug frantically into the duvet. His tongue and lips were doing something more satisfying than she'd thought possible, and the feel of him was electric. Where his mouth touched her, his tongue pulled and pushed and pulsed on her most sensitive areas. She arched her back and cried out when he pulled her clitoris between his lips and sucked lightly, humming a groan of approval and hunger against her.

His hands were gripping her hips, holding her fast as she started to thrash and tense and writhe. His fingertips dug into her backside and his palms pressed firmly against the outsides of her thighs, and it was there that Hermione felt a thrumming energy oscillating between them.

His low voice vibrated deliciously against her as he licked and suckled and kissed the most intimate part of her, as if he were enjoying it as much as she were. She knew he could feel the intense pleasure he was giving her, and that had to be contributing to the way his back rose and fell quickly with shallow breaths as his head bobbed. She knew he could feel the way she was _so close, so close_ to erupting with satisfaction, and that was why his silky moans were resonating more and more from his lips onto her swollen entrance.

Then, out of nowhere, there was an explosion in Hermione's mind and in her body, and a very warm tingling spread like wildfire from her sternum to her fingertips and back. Her head rushed as though she'd suddenly woken from sleep, and her ears were hot and ringing. She could feel her walls clenching arrythmically, could feel Severus' hands tighten roughly on her hips as she came. The pleasure was powerful - almost frighteningly so.

Before she could begin to recover from her climax, Hermione saw Severus sit up quickly from between her legs, his eyes flashing with a wild sense of need. He growled ferociously and pulled himself up so that there was an elbow on either side of Hermione's shoulders, and Hermione gasped in alarm as he drove himself fully into her body in one mighty thrust.

It would have hurt, perhaps, if she hadn't been so wet and inflamed and filled with pleasant sensations. The feel of his rigid member hurtling into her, impaling her and stretching her in an instant, was intensely gratifying. Hermione felt a pulsating drone, somewhere in her bones, crying out for release, and she knew it was Severus' lust.

She reached up and touched his face frantically as he started to move inside of her. He was grinding his member hard against her, stimulating her again as he pushed his pelvis onto hers.

"I want to feel you on me," Hermione said hoarsely. Then, knowing that made little sense, she clarified, "Lie on top of me…"

There was a flash of realization in Severus' onyx eyes, and then he released some of his weight from his elbows and lowered himself so that his lean chest rested against Hermione's. She sighed and grinned crookedly at the delightful feel of his heavy, warm body touching every inch of her own. The skin-to-skin contact sent currents of warm power back and forth between them, and she could more strongly feel his ecstasy mingling with her own.

Severus growled again and moved his face to bury his face between Hermione's neck and shoulder. He panted and huffed as he moved, and the warm feel of his breath made Hermione's hair stand on end. She raised her knees a little and wrapped them around his waist, pulling him more tightly against her, and her hands flew to clutch anxiously at his back.

His low, velvet voice was humming against her neck as his cock moved firmly up and down, grinding and rubbing against her in a way that made Hermione feel weak. She knew she was going to finish again; there was no helping it. He was hurtling her up to a peak so quickly that she felt very dizzy, and Hermione whimpered meekly,

"Oh! Severus, help… I can't breathe, or think, or…"

He pulled a bit of his weight off of her, transferring it back to his taut arms, and then she felt his lips kissing her neck. That wasn't helping the dizziness, Hermione thought distantly, but she didn't care anymore. His cock moved inside her in an undulating, rocking motion, and Hermione started to circle her own hips against his, meeting him thrust for thrust. Each time he pulled up and out, his rigid shaft dragged against Hermione's clitoris, and then he would plunge back down and fill her again.

It was all far too much, and she came once more with a desperate cry. Her fingers dug into his back and she felt her body clenching hard, pulling him into her with each clamp of her walls. Then, very suddenly, Severus had pulled out of her and had sat up onto his knees, gripping his cock in his hand like a weapon. Hermione stared up at him, shocked and unhappy at how hastily he'd removed his body from hers. But then she realized that they'd both completely forgotten to protect her with a spell or potion, and he had managed to remove himself before finishing inside of her. He jerked his hand a few times over his swollen, throbbing tip, and then yanked his fingers down to the base of his cock and groaned loudly.

Hermione watched, enthralled, as his seed burst forth in erratic jets, landing garishly upon her abdomen. Some got up onto her breasts, and she could not keep her fingers from reaching up to spread it a little over her skin. Severus was watching as intently as Hermione as he came upon her body, panting and gnashing his teeth as he grunted.

Then, as powerfully as she had felt his pleasure, Hermione felt the sudden spike of worry that had seeped its way into his mind as he recovered.

"Damn it," he growled softly, and he climbed very quickly off of the bed and reached for his wand inside the frock coat that lay crumpled upon the ground. He stalked nude back to the bed and cast a quick _Tergeo_ upon Hermione, cleansing her of his spilled seed, though Hermione thought she'd like another shower for a lot of reasons.

Then Severus walked briskly to his wardrobe, reached inside and took out a dark green velvet robe, and cinched the tie around his waist tightly. He wordlessly stalked from their private quarters out into his old office, the one he'd maintained for years as Potions Master. Hermione sat up in the bed and could hear the distant clattering of bottles as he searched for something out among the endless stores of potions.

Finally, he re-entered the sitting room, shutting the door behind him, and made his way to the bed. He held out a little blue bottle to Hermione and said, "That's it… I'm sorry, but you have to take it now. I don't want to come that close to…" He pursed his lips anxiously and shook his head firmly. "I love you too much to ruin you like that. Please just take it."

Hermione reached out a shaking hand and read the label, though she knew what it would say.

 _Elixir Infecudum._

She removed the small cork from the bottle and hesitated before tipping it back into her mouth. "The whole thing?" she asked Severus, and he nodded grimly. Hermione sighed and drank the contents of the bottle, pulling a face at the bitter taste.

She felt nothing immediately after drinking it. She handed the empty bottle back to Severus and coughed a bit at the terrible flavor of the potion, trying hard to ignore the burning sensation in her throat. She watched Severus wince and knew he was sensing her discomfort - not as explicitly as she was, but in a vague and uncomfortable manner. He Vanished the empty vial and said,

"I'll fetch you a nightgown."

Hermione nodded and watched him go to her trunk. Beside the trunk, his clothes still lay in a rumpled heap. Hermione frowned a little when she saw a silver chain tumbling forth from the pocket of Severus' frock coat on the ground. It was dull in the firelight, but there was something about it that made Hermione keep staring.

"What is that?" she asked suddenly, and Severus looked up from her trunk to see her pointing to the silver coming from his coat.

"Oh…" Severus scowled and licked his lip carefully. He rose, a nightgown in one hand, and shut the trunk. Then he used a nonverbal Summoning charm upon the silver item, and Hermione watched something jolt from the heap on the ground up into his hand. He stalked back the bed, his hand in a fist at his side. "I had meant to give it to you immediately upon returning from my meeting," he said somewhat awkwardly, "but I was rather overcome with…"

 _With lust_ , Hermione finished for him mentally, and she just nodded. "What is it?" she asked again, and Severus raised his fist and opened it.

Lying upon his hand was an golden and amber oval, with an 'S' upon the dull surface in green glittering stones. The chain was a drab silver color, though thick and heavy-looking. Upon the oval was a latch and a hinge. At once, Hermione felt her heart race and her breath catch as she realized Severus was handing her a Horcrux - the locket Harry had mentioned in his letter.

She swallowed heavily and reached out, cautiously wrapping her fingers around the locket and taking it from Severus. She did not raise her eyes to him, but she listened as he said,

"I have no idea what it is, but I know you need it. I hope you'll have some idea of what to do with it."

Hermione nodded numbly, staring down at the garish 'S' upon the locket. "I have to destroy it," she whispered, without telling him why. "I just have to figure out how."

* * *

Severus watched as Hermione tugged on the nightgown he'd pulled out of her trunk - a white t-shirt that reached her knees. She hauled herself off of the bed and raked her fingers through her hair, now a tangled bird's nest of mostly-dried frizz.

He glanced at the locket he'd given her, which she now clutched in her fist. The dull silver chain hung from between her fingers. What _was_ the item, exactly? Ronald Weasley had pushed forth thoughts of the locket into Severus' head, and then Hermione had seemed completely unsurprised to receive it from Severus. There was something wrong with this locket. That much was evident. There was something dangerous about it.

Severus watched as Hermione slid off of the bed and paced about the room, staring down into her palm at the locket. She'd said it needed to be destroyed. Why? Severus considered that there was probably quite a good reason he was not privy to more knowledge about the locket, but there was a part of him that was curious. Perhaps Dumbledore had not seen fit for Severus to know the truth about the object, but there was something Hermione knew, something Potter and even Ronald Weasley knew, about it - something dangerous.

Hermione was muttering to herself softly as she paced, occasionally dragging her fingers through her knotted hair. Severus frowned and considered that within an hour or so she'd be feeling the effects of the contraceptive potion he'd given her, and that she was holding a hazardous object of some kind. He needed to know more, if for no other reason than to help her.

He was tempted to try to get her to look at him, to use Legilimency on her. It would have been easy - _very_ easy, Severus reckoned - to search her mind and quickly determine what exactly the locket was. But he did not do that, for he knew that to do so would destroy all semblance of trust Hermione had for him.

Instead, he just watched in stilted silence as she paced back and forth and back again. Finally, he murmured,

"You'll soon enough be feeling the effects of the _Elixir Infecundum,_ Hermione. I realize that whatever you're doing right now - whatever you're thinking about - I realize it's important, but…"

Hermione nodded distractedly and proceeded over to her trunk. She opened the lid and rummaged about until she found her Expanded purple purse. Severus watched her open the drawstring and shove the locket inside, and then she placed the purse in the corner of the trunk and shut it again. She turned back to face him, still looking quite distracted as she demanded,

"How did you get the locket, Severus?"

"I took it from Dolores Umbridge," he answered truthfully, raising his eyebrows as if he were bored. "I Confounded her into giving it to me."

Hermione nodded and chewed upon her thumb nail, her eyes scanning back and forth and back again. At last she asked him, "What do you know about Wyvern blades?"

Severus frowned deeply. Wyvern daggers were known to be extremely powerful for a variety of purposes, especially in Potions uses. They were able to slice through iron, but could perform the most delicate mincing of herbs, as well. Wyverns were creatures related to dragons, with a few different qualities, and there were far fewer wyverns in the world than dragons. Severus cleared his throat delicately and answered Hermione,

"I owned a Wyvern dagger once. It was given to me by…" he trailed off, hesitant to admit to Hermione that Voldemort had gifted him the wyvern blade when he'd joined the Death Eaters. He pursed his lips and said hastily, "It was a gift, years ago. It was stolen from me during my first year teaching - I was careless and it vanished from my Potions storeroom. I was never able to prove it, but I believed then, and still do, that one of my sixth-year Ravenclaws took it."

He watched with curiosity as an odd look came over Hermione's face. She walked back to her trunk and opened it again, rummaging once more until she took something from her canvas school bag.

Immediately, Severus felt a pang of emotion, relief mixed with anxiety. In the firelight, he could see the pearlescent, jagged blade and the shiny black handle. He instantly recognized it as the dagger that had once belonged to him, the one made of an ancient wyvern scale and fire-blasted wyvern glass.

Hermione held the dagger up so he could see it, and she asked gently, "Was this yours?"

"Where did you get that?" Severus asked, failing to answer her question. He knew his voice sounded like a sharp clip, but he could not help himself. He saw Hermione hesitate from giving him the truth, and again he irritatedly considered plunging into her mind. But instead he repeated, "Who gave that to you?"

"Luna," Hermione replied. "Luna Lovegood. She gave it to me for my birthday; I have no idea where she got it. I used it in Potions lessons a few days ago, and it was remarkably useful for cutting up stubborn Flitterbloom tentacles…" She trailed off, and looked thoughtful for a moment before raising her eyes to Severus and saying determinedly, "Professor Slughorn told me that it was a very powerful tool. That it could destroy objects very few other things could destroy. Is that true?"

Severus cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. He nodded briskly. "I have used that very dagger to slice through the most stubborn metals, and to crush or break into or otherwise mutilate all sorts of particularly tenacious Potions ingredients. I never encountered anything that the Wyvern dagger was unable to penetrate."

He knew precisely why she'd asked, and was thus unsurprised when she headed back to her trunk and took out her purple bag, reaching inside of it and taking the locket out once more. She stood up in her knee-length t-shirt, hair tumbling messily about her face, and held up both hands. In her left was the locket, and in her right was the Wyvern dagger.

Suddenly, the locket quivered and vibrated at the end of its dull silver chain, and Hermione let out a shriek as though she'd been burned. She quickly dropped the locket and clutched at her hand, and Severus felt a curiousear of pain - _her_ pain - shoot through his veins. The locket fell to the ground with a strange _thud_ , and when it did, the face of the locket flew open and vibrated again against the rug.

They both stared down at it, and Severus moved to grab at Hermione's elbow and try to yank her away from it. It was clearly cursed; that much was obvious. That became more clear than ever when Severus peered more closely into the now-open locket and saw a set of eyes blinking up at him.

"Hermione," Severus mumbled suddenly, his voice losing all semblance of smoothness, "Give me the dagger."

But before she could obey him, the locket began trembling fiercely and a strange blue-grey cloud wormed its way up from the face. Severus watched in horror as a distorted image began to take shape - him. It was him, but a smoky, ghostly image of him. Then a voice began speaking, and at once Severus recognized it as Voldemort's.

" _Hermione Granger, I have seen your heartbreak. I have seen the path of your life, short and tragic and pathetic. Look at the man beside you - you think he loves you, but even you must admit Severus Snape has been a double agent for the length of your life. If he was lying to one side, then why not to the other? Whose side is he truly on? How could you possibly know him to be your ally?"_

Severus' mouth fell open in abject alarm as the smoky image of himself turned and faced Hermione and began speaking with Voldemort's voice.

"' _I had a better life before you, Hermione. Better women, more skilled than you at pleasing me. You are nothing but a silly little girl, a tool for me to achieve my means for the Dark Lord. Recognize your place in my plan - I never loved you. Nobody ever could.'"_

Beside Severus, Hermione was shaking fiercely and her eyes were brimming with tears as she watched the smoky figure taunt her. The Wyvern dagger quivered in her hand for a moment. Severus was about to shout at her to destroy the locket, but he didn't have to do so. A very infuriated expression abruptly crossed Hermione's face, a look of determination and rage. She growled fiercely and gripped the handle of the dagger tightly and lunged forward, falling to her knees.

Then she drove the white pearlescent blade of the Wyvern dagger against the open face of the locket, and bright orange sparks flew up into the air. At once, the smoky mirage of Severus faded and the sound of Voldemort's voice vanished into thin air. There was a beat of solid silence, and then the room erupted with long, drawn-out, vicious scream. Severus gasped as a bright flash of light burst from the locket briefly, and then the scream ended, and Hermione yanked the Wyvern blade from the shattered locket, and the room fell silent once more.

She fell back onto her bottom, panting and looking exhausted, and then very suddenly tears started streaming down her cheeks. She tossed the Wyvern dagger aside and swiped angrily at her eyes, and Severus stepped quickly over to her to grab the locket from the ground and reach his hand out to help her from the floor.

A few minutes later, he had her settled into a chair with a glass of firewhisky and a warm blanket, knowing that she had only a short while before the pain and bleeding started from her contraceptive potion. He paced anxiously before the fire, examining the destroyed locket in his own hands. The Wyvern dagger sat atop his mantle.

Finally, Severus demanded tersely, "Tell me what it was, Hermione."

She looked very hesitant for a long moment, and she gnawed so hard upon her lip that he worried it would bleed. Then at last she shook her head and said, "Well, honestly, Severus, I think perhaps I'm going to have to Obliviate you of tonight so that He can't see that you witnessed any of this. And I don't think I should tell you what it is. Or, perhaps I should, and then you can tell me if you think I should Obliviate the knowledge of that, as well."

Now thoroughly confused, Severus stopped pacing and frowned. "What?"

Hermione glared up at him. "The locket was a Horcrux," she said angrily. "Voldemort split his soul into many pieces, many years ago. Before he died, Dumbledore destroyed one. There were others, and that's where Ron and Harry went - to find them and destroy them. Until all the Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort can not be vanquished."

Severus felt as though a sack full of bricks had swung into his sternum. Suddenly, a good many things made significantly more sense.

Then he realized that she was right - if the Dark Lord knew Severus possessed knowledge about this, it would mean death for both him and Hermione. But Obliviation was dangerous at best and madness at worst. No, he would simply have to be more vigilant with his skills of Occlumency, at keeping the Dark Lord out of his head so that Severus himself might prove himself useful in eradicating the Horcruxes.

It might be true, Severus admitted, that he'd only agreed to spy for the Order of the Phoenix all those years ago in order to protect Lily Evans. But in the intervening years, he had grown to recognize the madness of Voldemort. Perhaps most importantly, the only two women he'd ever loved in his life were both Muggle-borns, and the primary purpose of the Death Eaters was to eradicate Muggle-borns. How could he possibly truly align himself with them now? He'd already lost Lily to Voldemort. He would not lose Hermione to him, too.

Before he could explain any of this to Hermione, he felt a dull burning in his left arm. He shut his eyes and sighed angrily. He had literally just come from Malfoy Manor, and now he was being summoned back. Perhaps, he figured, it was because Voldemort had just sensed the destruction of one of his Horcruxes.

He opened his eyes and looked at Hermione, who was staring down at her own left arm as if she had a Dark Mark of her own. She frowned at Severus and nodded bleakly. Severus squared his jaw and ground his teeth, then shook his head firmly.

"I can not leave you here to suffer the effects of the _Elixir Infecundum_ alone," he argued uselessly, though they both knew he had precisely no choice in the matter. Hermione shrugged and smiled sadly.

"I shall be perfectly fine," she assured him. "I'll take warm showers and a pain potion if need be -"

"No!" Severus shook his head more vigorously. "If you take any other potions, you shall completely counteract the efficacy of the elixir."

Hermione looked rather crushed, but she nodded in understanding. "Lots of warm showers, then," she said again bravely, and Severus nodded. His left arm started burning more fiercely, and he saw Hermione wince a bit. He thought once again how odd and uncomfortable it was that she was able to feel his pain, and that he would undoubtedly be able to feel hers.

He dashed around the room, picking up pieces of clothing he'd discarded earlier when he'd come in and stripped to make love to Hermione. It was an odd sense of _déjà vu,_ to go back to Malfoy Manor twice in the same night. It was not a pleasant sensation to kiss Hermione goodbye and promise her he'd see her later that night and have no guarantee of that fact whatsoever.

And it was with an absolute sense of dread that Severus Disapparated on the edge of the Hogwarts grounds, with a resounding _crack_ , knowing he may never see the place again.

When he appeared on the grounds of Malfoy Manor and stepped through the unlocked front doors, the house was eerily quiet. Severus thought perhaps he'd been summoned back so soon because Voldemort had realized a bit of his soul had been killed off, and perhaps he'd known Severus had been there to help kill it. Therefore, Severus figured it would not be at all unexpected if he himself were killed tonight. He had a pit of dread in his gut that he was going to die, but it belonged to Hermione, not to him.

He stepped up the stone stairs, yet again, just like he'd done a few hours earlier, and walked into the dining room, just like he'd done earlier that evening. Except, this time, a slightly different crowd was gathered. There was no Dolores Umbridge, and Severus felt an odd sense of relief at that. It was the group of "warriors" - the ones who were known for their battle prowess. And at the head of the table was Voldemort, as always, looking quite anxious indeed.

"Welcome back," he said tersely to the group, once Severus took his seat beside Yaxley. He spoke very quickly, and Severus realized there was an odd sense of urgency to what was happening. He also noticed that Voldemort did not spare Severus an individual glance, and that what was going on tonight was not about Severus but about someone else.

 _Good_ , Severus could not help but think.

"Yaxley," Voldemort said briskly, "Would you care to explain what is going on tonight?"

Severus turned his face to the pale-haired Yaxley, who swallowed heavily and cleared his throat.

"Of course, My Lord," he said carefully. "Earlier tonight, Ministry officials overheard Mundungus Fletcher drunkenly bragging in Knockturn Alley about a 'raid' that was going to happen tonight. Obviously, due to Severus' work, we know Dung Fletcher to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Mundungus Fletcher was captured and interrogated for information. From what we can tell, Order members will be here in approximately two hours. They intend to ambush the place, though Fletcher had little information on the specific logistics. They're coming to fetch the Weasley boy, obviously. To 'rescue' him."

Around the table, there were titters and low laughs, until Voldemort glared around and silenced everyone. Severus piped up,

"Is Potter coming?"

"No idea," Yaxley admitted. "Fletcher didn't seem to know. My guess would be that they wouldn't risk that. I've no idea why they're risking anything for that stupid boy, to be honest."

"This is Molly Weasley you're talking about," Severus said with a sneer. "She may have seven children, but if you were to ask her, none of them are spares."

Then, suddenly, Severus had an idea. It was a sick idea, a terrible idea, and he got a pit in his stomach that it had even occurred to him. He was an awful person for thinking of it. But it would win the battle tonight for the side of the light, and it would keep him in good graces with Voldemort at the same time. It was a ludicrous idea, an insane idea. And it would save Ronald Weasley's life. He cleared his throat softly and said,

"My Lord?" He raised his eyes to Voldemort, who stared at him expectantly. Severus continued cautiously. "If you permit me to briefly return to Hogwarts, I can fetch the youngest Weasley child. Ginevra, the girl. I will bring her back here and use her as a bargaining chip. The Order members will surrender the minute they see the girl."

"And what of the Weasley boy?" Bellatrix Lestrange demanded, pressing her palms against the dining room table and narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "Are we to simply hand him over and look weak? Give the Weasley woman _both_ her children? For what?"

"No. Of course not," Severus shook his head imperiously as though Bellatrix were an utter fool. "We promise to keep the Weasley boy alive as a prisoner if Molly Weasley brings us Harry Potter."

"But of course the other Order members would never allow such a thing," Yaxley said snidely.

Severus thought of how Albus Dumbledore had informed him that Harry Potter would have to die in order for Voldemort to be destroyed, and that Voldemort would have to kill him. Severus thought perhaps it was time, once and for all, for Potter to discover that information, and for the rest of the Order to learn it, too. Certainly, he thought, if Molly Weasley knew that, and Ronald was being held captive, she'd make Potter appear lickety-split.

"I think you'd be surprised what a desperate mother will make happen without anyone else's permission," Severus said softly. He turned his eyes back to Voldemort. "My Lord, if I am to fetch Ginevra Weasley, I must go quickly."

"Go!" Voldemort said brusquely, waving his arm.

Severus' breath shook as he numbly walked out of the manor, and as he stepped through the garden, he reached inside his collar and clutched his iron pendant in his hand. He squeezed it tightly and whispered, " _Oraverit._ "

* * *

Hermione was terribly startled when Severus appeared in the entry of the small shower space. She jolted where she sat on the floor of the shower and stared up at him, seeing how his eyes looked strained and tired.

"What's wrong?" she asked, quickly pulling herself up to stand. The cramps and bleeding weren't quite as bad as she thought they would be, or perhaps she'd over-prepared herself mentally. In any case, the warm water was soothing and distracting enough that she was handling the elixir fairly well. She shut off the water and reached for a towel to wrap around her torso.

"I realize what I am asking you to do," Severus said without so much as a greeting, and Hermione felt abruptly anxious when she heard the tremble in his normally smooth voice, "but I need you to go up to Gryffindor Tower and cast a Confundus Charm upon Ginny Weasley. I need you to convince her that it is a fantastic idea to come out to the Apparition Point and accompany me to Malfoy Manor, where she is going to serve as bait. She is going to save her brother's life… and a fair number of others', as well."


	10. Chapter 10

The moment Severus landed via Side-Along Apparition outside Malfoy Manor, he could see that the Confundus Charm Hermione had placed on Ginny Weasley had dissolved in transport. A sudden look of shock and horror had come over the red-haired girl's face, and she fumbled in her school robes for her wand. But, of course, her wand was back at Hogwarts, safely in Hermione's possession. Ginny Weasley's cheeks went pink and she looked up at Severus with a mixture of fear and rage.

"What the devil are you -" she began, but Severus calmly raised his black wand and directed it at Ginny, murmuring,

"Imperio."

A green mist volleyed from the tip of his wand and washed over Ginny Weasley's face. She swayed for a moment on her feet and blinked very slowly. When she opened her eyes, she looked calm and resolute. Severus swallowed heavily. This was a time to clear his thoughts, to throw up his Occlumency defenses. Now was the time to be sharp and on guard. Lives were at stake.

"Follow me," he said firmly to Ginny Weasley. "Do not leave my side. You understand?"

"Of course, Professor Snape."

He stalked briskly into the Manor, passing the menacing form of Fenrir Greyback outside front entrance. Inside the entry hall, Walden Macnair stood guard, pacing the space with his wand at the ready. Severus nodded briefly to the man, who gazed curiously at how Ginny Weasley obediently followed him.

Up the marble stairs Severus continued, until he entered the corridor upstairs that led to the dining room on one side and the small series of rooms on the other. He started down the corridor but stopped when he heard,

"Severus."

He turned over his shoulder to see Lucius Malfoy, looking haggard and weak. The man's once-noble face was drawn and overly pale, with dark circles beneath his eyes, pale lips, and a gaunt sort of thinness that was unbecoming. His silvery hair looked brittle as it hung about his face. Severus frowned to see Lucius in this state, but he shrugged expectantly, nonchalantly.

Lucius gestured into an empty study, and Severus cautiously followed him inside. The quiet sound of rain outside the window signaled a shift in the weather, and Severus distantly wondered whether the Order of the Phoenix would be arriving by broom. If they would, the weather might delay them a bit.

"Ward the door, would you?" Lucius asked hoarsely. Severus nodded and pointed his wand at the door after shutting it.

"Muffliato."

"She can't hear this," Lucius said, cautiously sparing a glance toward Ginny Weasley, who stared rather blankly out the rainy window. Severus flicked his eyes toward the ginger-headed girl.

"She is under my control," he assured Lucius, but the other man squared his jaw resolutely. Severus sighed and silently directed Ginny Weasley to turn round and face the corner, which she did, looking a bit like a humiliated child. "Inaurita."

His deafening charm took hold immediately, and Ginny could hear nothing that was said next between Severus and Lucius. This, Severus realized very quickly, was for the best.

Lucius Malfoy paced before the unlit fireplace, looking more sickly than ever in the dim light of the few sconces that gave the room a dull glow. He sighed anxiously and at last turned to Severus.

"The Weasley boy is already dead," he said softly, and Severus felt a pit of horror take hold in his gut.

"What?" Severus blurted in disbelief. "But we were to give them ten days to come fetch him. Why is he dead, Lucius?"

"The Dark Lord let Bellatrix… play… with him. Every day. Trying to get information about Potter. Two major things here, Severus. First, the Dark Lord learned something using Legilimency on the boy. I have no idea what he learned, what he saw. But it angered him enough that he told Bellatrix to 'turn the boy into Frank Longbottom,' and you know what he meant by that."

Severus thought of the one-time Auror, whom Bellatrix had tortured into permanent insanity. It was, in many ways, a fate far worse than death. His eyebrow crumpled. "And?" He prompted Lucius to continue.

"She took it too far," Lucius admitted. "It was… the pain was too much. The boy's heart stopped. Narcissa tried to bring him back, if for no other reason than none of us wanted to see the Dark Lord angry about this. But he's dead."

"When?" Severus demanded.

"This morning." Lucius looked as though he would vomit. "The Dark Lord knows he is dead. Knows The Order is coming. Just wants to trap them all so that they can be more easily killed."

Severus felt dizzy and a bit weak on his feet. Everything was changed in an instant, with just a small bit of information. His plan, his bringing Ginny Weasley here to bargain for Ronald Weasley… it was not going to save lives, but rather cost more. And Voldemort had known that the boy was dead when he'd allowed Severus to go fetch Ginny Weasley, too. Severus had been played and manipulated, just like everyone else.

Then there was the fact that Harry Potter had to die, or so Dumbledore had told Severus. Who knew what was true anymore? Dumbledore had always had a flair for the dramatic, and he'd been wrong more than once. But it seemed to Severus that there were young lives dropping all around him, and for what? To what end?

Furthermore, what had it been that Voldemort had seen in the boy's mind that had angered him? Now Severus knew about the Horcruxes, having witnessed the destruction of the locket. That had to have been it, he thought. Voldemort must have seen that Ronald Weasley was out hunting Horcruxes.

The most important thing Severus could do now was protect his own knowledge of the Horcruxes, as well as Hermione's. For, he considered, it may well be entirely up to them to find and destroy the Horcruxes now. And, if Dumbledore was to be believed, Harry Potter would soon have to be killed in order for the Dark Lord to be vanquished.

Severus felt profoundly betrayed, by those on all sides. He could still hear himself expressing his disbelief to Albus Dumbledore.

"You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?... You have used me… I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to keep Lily Potter's son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter…"

Now here he stood, in a tiny room in Malfoy Manor, with Ginny Weasley as a decoy and as human bait, and Voldemort knew full well that Severus would be responsible for deaths tonight.

The only person who was being honest - or was he? - was Lucius Malfoy. Why? Severus' head reeled as he sought to make sense of who was betraying whom, who was lying, who was telling the truth. The world was a tangled mess, and he felt as though he could trust no one, not even himself. Perhaps Hermione. Perhaps not.

He licked his lips and said quietly to Lucius, "The Order is set to arrive within a half hour. This is going to make quite a mess of things, you know. That the boy is already dead."

"I know. I thought I should prepare you so that you might formulate some sort of… plan. You always seemed to have a plan."

"Why are you telling me this?" Severus demanded of Lucius.

Lucius considered his answer carefully. Severus thought back to how Voldemort had taken Lucius' wand, to how Lucius had spent time in Azkaban for serving the Dark Lord. He thought perhaps Lucius had many reasons to betray Voldemort. More betrayal.

"He is the same age as Draco," Lucius noted, "and it seems an inelegant way to win a war, you know. Slaughtering boys."

Severus nodded thoughtfully. "I shall keep the girl in this room, and bring her out only if explicitly ordered to do so. I hope I do not have to use her in order to get Potter for the Dark Lord. I hope Molly Weasley makes it easier than that."

Lucius nodded. Severus quietly lifted his Muffliato charm as well as the deafening charm he'd placed on Ginny Weasley. He ordered her to sit in a chair and handed her a random book, which she proceeded to silently read. He commanded her to stay in the room, no matter what she heard, unless he summoned her. Then Severus and Lucius headed back out into the corridor and made their way into the dining room, where they saw that the Carrows had come from Hogwarts and were seated at the table. Dolohov was there, and Jugson, and Avery. Bellatrix Lestrange was stalking around the table, looking rather anxious, and Severus could not help but glare at her as he realized she'd murdered Ronald Weasley this morning.

Severus took a seat and sighed lightly. He'd never cared for Ronald Weasley. The boy had always irked him, for many reasons. He'd always seemed to have a massive inferiority complex, not only toward his many brothers but toward Harry Potter. Then there had been the way he'd spent the past seven years trying to get inside Hermione's knickers - sometimes not realizing he was trying.

Severus had taught every member of the Weasley clan. He remembered Percy, Ronald, and the dreadful twins most of all. Percy he recalled as being intolerably stuck-up. Perhaps once upon a time, Severus had thought Hermione to be a know-it-all, but Percy took that loathsome quality so far over the top that he was entirely unlikeable. His nose had been perpetually in the air, and the poor boy had always seemed to have a wand up his bum. Then there had been Fred and George, the obnoxious and rule-deriding twins who had sought to make Severus' life a living hell during their truncated Hogwarts careers.

Then there was Ronald, the boy who had seemed at once meek and brave, kind and bitter. He was a tempest of contradictions, Ronald Weasley, and perhaps one of the ones who had gone most from childhood to adulthood in the past seven years. Perhaps he had annoyed Severus - certainly he had done so. But to hear that the boy had been murdered, and in the pursuit of destroying evil… that put an unsolicited spike of grief straight through Severus' chest.

Then he thought of how Hermione would react to this news, how she would feel the boy's death so strongly. He realized that she was perhaps feeling a bit of it even now, since their emotions oscillated so freely between them even over great distances. Severus felt a flutter of anxiety at the prospect of telling Hermione that one of her oldest and dearest friends had been murdered. He was not looking forward to it.

Before he could think any more on the matter, the dining room door creaked open and Voldemort walked smoothly in, trailed by the elegant slithering form of Nagini. Severus stared long and hard at the snake, wondering when exactly it was that Voldemort had obtained the creature. He had no recollection of the snake prior to the end of the First War, and yet since Voldemort's return, Nagini had been completely inseparable from her master.

Severus watched Voldemort sink into the chair at the head of the table, watched the way the snake coiled contentedly around his feet. It was odd, he thought, the way the snake seemed so happy and peaceful in Voldemort's presence. No one was at peace in the presence of the Dark Lord, except for the Dark Lord himself. Conversely, Voldemort showed the snake greater affection than Severus had seen him express toward anything else but himself.

Then everything suddenly clicked in Severus' mind.

The snake was happy around the Dark Lord because she was the Dark Lord. Voldemort, meanwhile, was kind and merciful and affectionate to Nagini because he loved only himself, and the snake was him.

The snake was a Horcrux.

It was the only logical explanation. Feeling his heart suddenly race inside his chest, Severus struggled to control his breath, to maintain a steely and emotionless look upon his face. Somehow, he realized, the snake would have to be destroyed. But before he could think any more about it, he heard Voldemort ask with preternatural calm,

"Severus, I thought you had gone to get Ginevra Weasley?"

"I have her in holding across the corridor, My Lord," Severus answered, masking his panic. His voice was low and smooth. "I thought it best to have her 'in reserve' as a more effective weapon. She is Imperiused to obey me."

Voldemort sneered and snickered, as did many around the table. "Perfect," the Dark Lord said rather happily. "Then we wait."

They did not have to wait long. Ten minutes of stilted low conversations passed before there was the sound of running footsteps coming up the stone stairs. Everyone at the table flew to their feet, except for Voldemort, who stayed seated and looked calm as ever.

Fenrir Greyback came dashing into the room and growled with an expression of unmitigated glee, "They're here!"

* * *

Hermione moved quickly around the Potions storeroom, gathering many little bottles and vials into an ingredients basket. She was searching and reaching for everything on a scrap of parchment Severus had left her. Dittany. Essence of Murtlap. Skele-Gro. Burn-healing paste. Butterfly weed balm. Wiggenweld Potion.

If either Severus or Ginny returned injured, taking one or both to Madam Pomfrey was not going to be an option. Hermione herself was still in pain and bleeding rather profusely from the Elixir Infecundum, but she ignored the way her knickers were sticky with blood and searched for more healing potions.

Her head was reeling with sensations of fear, of alarm and pain… and none of them belonged to her. Severus was in danger. Hermione needed to be certain that the moment he came back (hopefully with Ginny in tow and alive), that she was fully prepared.

* * *

The entry hall of Malfoy Manor was flashing with light as members of the Order of the Phoenix duelled with Death Eaters. The Order members had been rather brash in their ambush of the Manor, but, then, they were unaware that Mundungus Fletcher had gone bragging about their plans.

Severus found himself in a one-on-one duel with Remus Lupin, who was flashing him glares and wolf-like snarls as he attempted to curse his old enemy. Severus deflected every spell, and finally yelled, "Sectumsempra!"

Lupin knew that one well, Severus thought with a sigh, as he watched his old classmate collapse to the marble floor. His chest was quickly criss-crossed with deep slashes that began pouring forth blood, which pooled around him. Lupin's wand clattered from his hand and landed beside him.

Severus watched wide-eyed as Bellatrix Lestrange ambled over with a merry look in her eyes and snatched the wand from the ground.

"Oh, look! A new wand for Lucius!" she cried happily. She sneered down at the way Remus Lupin was bleeding profusely from his wounds, making low grunts of pain, and she gave Severus a satisfied look. "Seems you're good for something after all, Snape," she cackled, before jaunting away again.

Severus felt a quiver of guilt as he watched Lupin slump backward. He had only minutes, he knew, before Lupin would bleed out, but there was simply no way he could use the healing spell, Vulnera Sanentur, without being outed as a true enemy of the Death Eaters.

Lupin would die a martyr for the Order tonight, Severus thought. Just like Dumbledore. And once again Severus would appear to be a bloodthirsty killer. Perhaps he was one, after all.

Suddenly a little mousy-haired figure appeared beside Lupin, grasping desperately at his chest and letting out a pitiful keen. Nymphadora Tonks whipped out her wand and aimed it first at Severus, and for a brief moment he thought she meant to kill him.

Severus felt frozen in his boots, unable to move from where he stood, even though behind Lupin's profusely bleeding form, Molly and Arthur Weasley were fending off five Death Eaters on their own. Kingsley Shacklebolt was fighting Antonin Dolohov and seemed to be doing fairly well, and the two red-haired Weasley twins were battling Macnair and Mulciber. Everyone was so busy that they probably would not notice if Severus went down at Tonks' curse, though he had to wonder if she was capable of such a thing.

He knew, too, that he could physically knit up Lupin's wounds with the Vulnera Sanentur spell he'd invented… did they not teach healing spells to Aurors? He willed Tonks to touch her wand to the werewolf, to fix him so that the man did not bleed out here upon the floor. She appeared among the chaos to be trying a variety of healing spells, but none of them were working.

Severus saw out of the corner of his eye that the one-eared form of George Weasley was dashing across the room at him, having cast a solid Petrificus Totalus Duo at Macnair and Mulciber. Severus whipped his wand toward George Weasley and cried, "Stupefy!"

The boy flew backward, unconscious, and landed with a thud upon the ground. Severus could see that his twin was occupied with battling Rodolphus Lestrange, and so he turned back to the bleeding form of Remus Lupin. Beside him, Tonks was frantically trying every healing spell she knew, and she appeared to be simultaneously applying some Dittany she'd extracted from her robes. But Severus knew full well that in order for Dittany to work, the Vulnera Sanentur had to be cast properly. It was no use, he thought. Lupin had only seconds left, from the black appearance in his pale eyes.

Nymphadora Tonks turned to look up at Severus, pointing her wand at him again. Her eyes were blotchy with desperate tears, and as he raised his wand at her in return, she growled in a low voice,

"Look in my head, Snape. Look in my head."

Many people knew that Severus possessed the abilities of Legilimency, particularly within the Order of the Phoenix. But it was extremely rare that someone askedhim to enter their minds. It was an odd feeling, therefore, to sense how easily he was granted admittance into Tonks' memories.

One came whirring to the forefront - something she very deliberately wanted him to see.

She was sitting nervously at a kitchen table, staring down into a little glass. The parchment beside her had directions upon it… 'Wait three minutes after dropping in the Test Potion. If the sample turns black, pregnancy is confirmed.'

Another few seconds passed, filled with tapping feet and anxious breathing. Then, all of a sudden, the liquid in the glass turned a deep, opaque black.

'Oh, Merlin...' Tonks gasped. 'I'm having a baby. I'm having a baby...'

Severus yanked himself out of her mind and felt acutely ill. He stared down at her, at the way she was hunched over Remus Lupin's now-lifeless form, at the way her back heaved with sobs. Then he rushed forward and grabbed at the back of her robes, yanking her away from the heap of Lupin's bloody, dead body, and he hauled her away into an adjoining room.

"Nymphadora," he said in a low, smooth voice, "Leave. Go. Now."

She spared a glance back toward Lupin, who lay silent and still upon the marble floor, and then shut her eyes as a tear wormed down her cheek. She shook her head and said hoarsely, "Take care of his… take care of him, will you?"

Severus nodded brusquely and said again, "Go."

They went in separate directions then, with Tonks heading reluctantly out the back of the Manor, away from the melee, while Severus headed back into the fray.

After another half hour of duelling, the remaining Order members were lined up against a wall, outnumbered and overpowered. Severus thought that perhaps it would have served them well to realize they'd had loose lips within their midst. There had been only seven Order members to come to Malfoy Manor tonight, but over three times that many dark wizards were present, fully expecting them.

Now, the Order members had been fully disarmed, their wands sitting in a neat pile at Bellatrix Lestrange's feet. Molly, Arthur, Fred, and George Weasley were lined neatly up against the wall, with Kingsley Shacklebolt beside them, while Lupin's dead body lay in a messy, bloodied heap in the middle of the room. Tonks had left long ago.

Voldemort had descended from the dining room and now glided smoothly back and forth in front of his prisoners, all of whom had had Full Body Binding Curses cast upon them. They were silent and unmoving, but fully aware, their eyes staring up frantically from where they lay. Severus stood back, among the Dark Lord's followers, awaiting orders and feeling more sick than ever.

"Molly Weasley…" Voldemort sneered, pausing to stare down into the angry, wide eyes of the red-haired witch. "You come here tonight looking for your son, Ronald. I can scarcely blame you. Any good mother would seek out her child upon learning he is being held captive. That is a good thing for a mother to do."

Around Severus, there were low titters as the Death Eaters waited for the punch line.

"Severus."

"My Lord?" Severus replied briskly, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Bring down our little… bargaining chip."

Severus sighed lightly. "Straight away, My Lord."

He padded up the stairs, feeling his head spin, and opened the door to the room where he'd been keeping Ginny Weasley. She was sitting there still, reading her book, and Severus said firmly, "Come downstairs now, Miss Weasley."

She rose wordlessly, setting the book down upon the seat of the chair, and followed Severus silently down the stone steps into the eerily silent entryway of the Manor. All eyes were upon them as they descended the stairs, and Severus could have sworn he heard a little meek sound from Arthur Weasley where he lay bound upon the floor.

"I'd like for Miss Weasley to come greet her loving parents," said the Dark Lord, and Severus willed Ginny over to where her family was lined up motionless upon the ground. The girl stepped past Lupin's lifeless, bloody form without sparing a glance down, and she tracked bloody footprints on her way to stand beside Voldemort. Severus nearly shuddered when he saw Voldemort's claw-like gray hand cup around Ginny's thin shoulder.

"Behold," said the Dark Lord. "We have not one, but two of your offspring. You have many, I know. But I am led to believe you somehow place a value on all of them. Very impressive. In any case… you shall not be seeing Ronald nor Ginevra until I see Harry Potter. You have two weeks to deliver the boy to me. Two weeks, or I'm afraid Miss Ginevra here shall meet a most… unfortunate fate." He turned Ginny's shoulders and thrust her back in Severus' direction. "Put her in a room where she might be made comfortable for… well, two weeks at the outside, Severus." Voldemort smirked knowingly, then turned to Mulciber and gestured unkindly down to the bound figures of the Order of the Phoenix. "Take these people back to wherever it is they came from. I want them out of my sight. Two weeks… give me Potter."

* * *

Hermione swiped rather angrily at her eyes with the back of her hand as she stood above a steaming cauldron in Slughorn's classroom, absently stirring at her Erumpent Potion. A few tables away, Lavender Brown was murmuring to Parvati Patil about how handsome Seamus Finnigan was starting to look.

"I just mean… he's grown into his freckles, is all," Lavender was saying, and Hermione felt a fresh hot tear burn its way to her eye as she considered that Lavender had once been head over heels for Ron Weasley. It had seemed sickening at the time to see them snogging one another's faces off, but now Hermione would give anything - anything - to see Lavender Brown sucking face with Ron Weasley out in the courtyards of the Hogwarts grounds.

Instead, she'd spent the past week crying herself to sleep over Ron, thinking of how he'd been tortured to death by Bellatrix Lestrange. And Remus Lupin - who had never been anything but kind toward Hermione… he'd been killed, too. By Severus. And Ginny Weasley was somewhere in Malfoy Manor, waiting out the last week before she was killed...

It was all far too much, Hermione thought bitterly, picking up the Erumpent horn before her and grinding it against her steel grater. She drove the horn firmly against the grinder until she had a nice pile of shavings, and then she dumped them into her cauldron and sighed, stirring aimlessly.

She thought back to the early morning when Severus had reappeared through the doorway, looking frantic and horrified… how he'd sat her down in a chair and made her drink firewhisky as he explained to her what had happened.

She'd collapsed against his chest. She didn't remember much after that. He'd been unable to give her a potion, lest they render the Elixir Infecundum useless. But Hermione had sobbed and wailed and punched a pillow until she'd fallen asleep, exhausted as the sun rose somewhere up above the castle walls.

That day, Severus had sent word to Alecto Carrow via house-elf that he'd be running late, that he would be absent from breakfast, and he'd managed a few hours of restless sleep beside Hermione before she'd woken him up with her shrieking.

Every day since then had been rather like that - an endless cycle of tears, rage, and fear. A few days after Severus had told Hermione that Ron and Remus Lupin were dead, that Ginny was being held captive, she'd demanded to know how he intended to keep Harry safe. After all, Ginny was being held prisoner so that Harry would be brought to Voldemort. She was being used as bait. What exactly did Severus intend to do to protect Harry, she demanded? But he'd given her a rather helpless look, and he'd sat her down before the fireplace again and patiently explained another bit of horrid news. Harry would have to die in order for Voldemort to be vanquished. Therefore, it would not be the worst thing, Severus insisted, if he were captured by the Weasleys and bartered for Ginny's life.

That had set Hermione off upon another tirade of helpless angst, and even today she was so overcome with grief that she was nearly unable to carry out her Potions work. She'd tried so very hard the past several days to put on a brave face in front of her peers, in front of her professors. She felt it was important to do so to protect Ginny, and on the off chance that Harry might live, too. If she showed grief over them, it would give away that her sympathies lay entirely with the Order, and thus would give away her husband. So she'd bravely tried to soldier through her days with emotionless courage.

It was not working very well. This became quite obvious when her Erumpent Potion suddenly exploded with a resounding BANG!

Hermione shrieked as she was lifted off her feet by the force of the blast, landing with a thud upon the ground so hard that for a moment she could not breathe at all. There were girlish screams and low moans filling the classroom, and a cloud of dark green smoke, as well. Hermione glanced beside her to see that her copper cauldron, the one Severus had bought for her, lay in molten-edged shards all around her. Her stirring stick was twisted and bent and had lodged itself stubbornly into her hair, and as she sat up she struggled to pull it out.

"What's happened?" she heard Neville Longbottom ask in a blurred voice. He coughed a few times and then said, "Is everyone all right?" Neville rose and looked about the classroom, surveying the damage with an expression of concern. Hermione gazed up at her classmate, who glanced back at her and said cautiously, "A cauldron's fallen onto Professor Slughorn's head… fell off the shelves. He's been knocked unconscious. Hermione, go get Professor Snape, would you? Hurry!"

Hermione stood shakily and nodded, impressed by Neville's sudden injection of leadership. She glanced worriedly around as she walked briskly from the classroom, seeing how her fellow seventh-years were surrounded by spilled potions, torn books, ripped clothing, and shattered potions vials. With a terrible sense that her carelessness might have gotten someone seriously injured, Hermione rushed more quickly out into the Potions corridor and reached into her pocket for her pocket-watch. It would be faster than trying to walk all the way up to the Headmaster's Office, she knew.

"Oraverit," she murmured, and she disappeared from the corridor in a whirling, pinching suction. When she landed hard upon her feet, she was in Severus' office, up in the Headmaster's Tower. He was pacing in front of his desk, reading from a scroll, and he quickly raised his eyes and snapped the scroll shut when Hermione landed.

"What the devil is going on?" he asked without greeting her, tossing the scroll onto his desk and walking quickly toward Hermione. His slender hand reached out and plucked something from her mussed hair. He examined the soot marks on her face, the scorched holes in her school robes, and the scaley chunks he'd pulled from her hair, and then he said, "Someone's exploded Erumpent Potion."

"Yes, well," Hermione said impatiently, feeling tears come to her eyes, "That someone would be me. I've been rather distracted, I'm afraid. You need to come quickly. Professor Slughorn's been knocked unconscious by a falling cauldron."

A look of dismay came over Severus' dark eyes, and he grasped Hermione's bicep as he guided her quickly out of the Headmaster's Office. His long black robe rippled behind him, whipping at Hermione's ankles, as he pulled her quickly down the staircase that led out to the main corridor outside the Headmaster's Tower. As they breezed quickly past a portrait of a 19th-century mediwitch, Severus paused and barked,

"Go to your painting in the hospital wing. Tell Poppy Pomfrey to have beds, bandages, and Dittany ready, and then to meet me in the Potions classroom."

The mediwitch nodded solemnly and rose from where she sat, disappearing quickly out of her heavy brass frame. Severus squeezed Hermione's arm more tightly, almost painfully, and led her on again. She wrenched free of him and said,

"Believe it or not, Severus, I know where the Potions classroom is, and I'm more than capable of walking there!"

He glared at her over his shoulder but kept walking quickly. "You have to be careful," he chided her. "I realize your grief is heavy, Hermione, but -"

"Please do not lecture me," she requested quietly, striding as briskly as she could to keep up with his long strides. "I realize someone could have been hurt, or worse. Someone may have been. I was careless. I know. My mind is… I am having a great deal of difficulty focusing at the moment on academics, Severus. I do not care for the sensation."

She thought again of Ron. She thought of the time in their second year, when Ron and Harry and Hermione had surreptitiously made Polyjuice Potion.

"Do you… do you remember," she began, swiping tearfully at her eye with her fist as they headed down a great moving set of stairs, "when Goyle's cauldron had a burned firework in it? The whole class was going mad, because their limbs were swelling up?"

"Of course I remember," Severus growled rather fiercely. "Potter put the firework into Goyle's cauldron, to make a fool of the boy and of me."

"No," Hermione corrected, shaking her head behind him. They jogged quickly down flights of stairs until they were nearly to the dungeons. "No. He and Ron were distracting you so that I could sneak into the storerooms and get ingredients for Polyjuice Potion."

"Ah," Severus said softly. "So that is when you stole my Boomslang Skin."

"Yes," Hermione chirped meekly, thinking of Ron's face when she'd shown him and Harry her loot from Severus' private stores. It wasn't anything she'd have ever done before coming to Hogwarts - to flat-out rob a teacher. Little did she know she'd marry the man five years later.

They walked in hurried silence until they reached the Potions corridor, and then Severus paused very briefly and turned round to face Hermione. "Perhaps it would be best if you took a week or so from your studies," he suggested, "to… grieve properly."

Hermione smiled sadly up at him, touched by his kindness. But she shook her head. "You of all people ought to know, Severus, that a week is scarcely time to grieve properly. And, in any case, it would not do for the Headmaster's Wife to disappear from lessons for a week. Why should I get a holiday when no one else does? No… I shall simply have to be more careful."

He looked down at her for a moment, and his eyes gleamed as though he wanted to compliment her, as though he wanted to tell her she was being brave and intelligent. But he just nodded, grimly and silently, and he turned round to open the door to the Potions classroom.

* * *

Severus was rather exhausted by the time he made his way down from the hospital wing after dinner. There were three Gryffindor students and a Slytherin who would be spending the night under Poppy Pomfrey's care, not to mention Horace Slughorn. As a consequence, Severus himself had announced at dinner that he would be teaching Potions lessons until further notice. That was an awkward announcement to make, since word had spread quickly that it had been Hermione's Erumpent Potion which had exploded and caused such mayhem.

Thanks to Neville Longbottom's surprising quick thought, not as many were injured as might have otherwise been. The boy had managed to go around dabbing Dittany and Essence of Murtlap on the most superficial wounds, and he'd actually saved Horace Slughorn's life by finding and administering the man a tiny dose of Draught of Living Death. Slughorn had been scarcely breathing, Neville Longbottom had said, and he'd put him in suspended deep sleep until the old man could receive proper medical assistance. It had been rather brilliant, Severus had to admit.

"Twenty-five points to Gryffindor, Mr. Longbottom," he'd said briskly, and the poor boy had looked rather like he'd swallowed a toad.

But the rest of the afternoon and evening had consisted of Severus drafting notifications to parents of injuries, of popping in and out of the hospital wing, and of making repairs to the Potions classroom. Some things were beyond repair and would have to be replaced entirely; his next several weekends would be spent feverishly brewing potions to replace the ones that had fallen off of shelves and broken. Hermione's copper cauldron had burst and melted and was beyond fixing, and she would need a new one expeditiously. Then there was the one that had fallen upon Slughorn's head and knocked him down. It was a large cast iron cauldron, which had been badly scratched and would not brew properly until Severus carefully repaired it with spell work.

Hermione had come to Severus' office to profusely apologize again for being careless, for ignoring her explosive potion, but he'd just nodded and smirked and sent her away, because he was busy.

Now he felt somewhat irritated with her, even though he knew that her lack of attentiveness was born entirely of grief and shock. He knew that the past week had been incredibly difficult for her. How could she reconcile not only the death of her dear friend, but the endangerment of another? How could she accept, furthermore, that there was virtually nothing she could do to intercede without putting more lives at risk? She couldn't. Hermione Granger couldn't accept these things, and that was why she'd lost focus with a dangerous potion and sent five people to the Hospital Wing.

Severus suddenly realized with a pang of rather acute guilt that he'd never asked Hermione if she'd been injured in the explosion. She had not been limping, her speech seemed fine, and there was no blood upon her, so Severus had assumed she'd escaped unscathed. And perhaps she had. Still, he thought, he should have asked.

He sighed heavily as he made his way into their private quarters and immediately began stripping off his long black robe. It felt heavy around his shoulders, and a great weight seemed to be lifted as Severus freed himself from the garment. As he walked into the firelit space, he saw Hermione pacing anxiously around, and he frowned when he got a better look at her.

She was naked except for a bra and knickers, a matching set of simple light grey cotton. Her hair had been yanked up into a messy loose bun atop her head, but strands fell messily about her face. In one hand was a crystal tumbler, and in the other was an alarmingly empty bottle of firewhisky. Hermione did not seem to notice Severus come in, and he paused and watched as she paced, murmuring softly, and then stumbled a bit on the edge of the rug.

She dropped the crystal tumbler and it shattered. "Shit," Hermione mumbled, reaching for her wand on the little table beside the armchair. Severus sighed and stepped quickly into the room, pointing his own wand at the little puddle of liquor and the broken glass.

"Evanesco."

The mess Vanished into non-being, and Hermione scowled up at Severus. "Why'd you do that?" she demanded rather crossly, swiping at her lips with the back of her hand and smearing red lipstick. Why was she wearing red lipstick, Severus wondered absently? He frowned as he noticed there was eyeliner around her eyes, and mascara, and blusher on her cheekbones. Hermione hiccuped lightly and insisted, "I would have repaired the tumbler."

"I know. I know you have done," Severus said, gently reaching to take the bottle of Blishen's firewhisky from her hand. She yanked it away and shook her head.

"Not done," she said firmly, and Severus chewed the inside of his mouth.

He did not have to ask her why she was drunk. It was obvious. She felt guilty about injuring people due to her carelessness, and she could not stop thinking about Ron and Ginevra Weasley, or about Remus Lupin. She was tormented.

"Please let me get you something to clear your mind, and something to make you sleep peacefully," Severus suggested, trying to keep his voice soft and steady. His words came out a bit like spun silk, and Hermione shut her eyes and swayed a little on her feet as he spoke. But then her eyelids sprang open and she said fiercely,

"I don't need your potions. I've got this!" She held up the bottle of Blishen's proudly. "And, I've got a moss agate! You know, you put it next to your head and you'll have wonderful dreams! Luna told me so, and she gives me the most wonderful gifts, you know… things that destroy Horcruxes… things that give you splendid dreams. She's a good friend, Luna."

Hermione suddenly looked crushed, as she realized that Ron and Ginny were both likely gone forever and she had no close friends to speak of, and tears wormed their way out of her chestnut eyes and drizzled down her cheeks. Severus reached out and brushed the tears away with the calloused pads of his thumbs and murmured,

"You are a good friend, Hermione."

She shook her head vigorously. "I'm not. I'm not. I should never have let the boys go without me."

"It would have meant death for all of you," Severus began, but of course he had no way of knowing whether that was true. Hermione was just brilliant enough, he thought, that perhaps she could have saved all three of them. And Ginny, too, probably. But he did not dare speak that thought. Instead, he swallowed heavily and said, "Come lie down with me, will you? It's getting late."

A few minutes later he'd managed to surreptitiously wrestle the bottle of firewhisky away from her, to help her get her bra off and to slip on one of his old black t-shirts so that she could go to bed. She lay upon her back and quivered a little, looking and sounding very sad indeed as she asked,

"You loved her, didn't you?"

Severus knew who she meant, for he'd let the name slip once or twice. But, even so, he sniffed lightly and asked, "Who?"

"Lily. Lily Evans."

If he'd expected Hermione to sound jealous or possessive, he was very wrong. She spoke Lily's name almost reverently, like a prayer, and Severus felt a clutch of pain inside his chest that he knew she could feel, too. He'd been feeling Hermione's grief all week; he knew she could feel his at the sound of Lily's name.

"Yes," he admitted finally. He arranged himself upon his own back beside Hermione and stared up at the ceiling. "I loved her. With all that I was. She never loved me back, but that didn't make it hurt any less when she died."

Hermione was silent for a long moment, and Severus peeked over to see a mascara-stained tear creep down from her eye and land upon the pillowcase in a black blot. "I never loved Ron," she conceded, "not like you loved Lily. But he was a part of me. And Harry is too, and I'm very afraid soon enough they'll both be gone. Lots of people are going to be gone before it's all over, and I feel very responsible. How do you get over that, Severus? How do you get over feeling responsible for someone dying?"

"You don't." Severus shut his eyes and felt a searing, awful sense of guilt wash over him. He could see their faces, all of them. Lily's eyes shut in death, inside the house in Godric's Hollow, as he cradled her lifeless form. Albus Dumbledore, perched on the edge of the Astronomy Tower. 'Please, Severus.' And just last week, Remus Lupin staring up at him as the blood gushed forth from wounds created by Severus' own spell. All of them, preventable deaths. All of them Severus' fault.

He wanted to tell Hermione that it wasn't her fault, that there was nothing she could have done to save Ron Weasley. But it wouldn't matter. She felt what she felt, and no one could make her feel any different. Severus opened his eyes, black and cold as coal, and turned to Hermione. "You don't ever get over it. The pain fades, the guilt fades, and then every once in a while it all comes raging back like a fierce storm. I wish I could tell you differently. I can't. All I can tell you is that I love you, very much, and that I promise I understand."

* * *

'Than dyd Deth passe ouer the riuer, and dyd Deth cheue a twyg ofe an Eldere Tree. Than dyd Deth fourme a Wande ofe the twyg, and dyd gyfte it unto the brether. Hente he not a syngle thanke, nobot the brether dyd begyn vse the Eldere Wande belyue.'

Hermione squinted down at the ancient text before her and tried to make sense of the Middle English vocabulary. Small wonder, she thought gruffly, that so few people sought to interpret these handwritten texts. She translated the old text in her mind word by word and came up with a modern version.

'Then Death crossed the river, and he plucked a twig from an elder tree. Then Death made a wand from the twig, and he gave it to the brother. He did not receive a word of thanks, but the brother began using the Elder Wand at once.'

Hermione sighed lightly and shut her heavy book. She'd been poring over Ende Of Deth all day, in between lessons, trying to glean some higher meaning from the centuries-old calligraphy. There had to be some greater significance to the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Cloak of Invisibility. They weren't just items in an old story. That much was clear. Why would Dumbledore have wanted Severus to give Hermione this specific copy of the story? Why did Harry have an invisibility cloak? There was something real about these items, and something significant. Hermione knew it.

But now she sat in the Potions classroom, three days after her Erumpent Potion accident, and it had been mostly repaired. She had arrived early for today's lessons, and the other students were just now filing in. Severus had not arrived yet; this would be his first lesson as substitute instructor for Horace Slughorn, who was still incapacitated in the hospital wing. Hermione felt terribly guilty about that, and she knew it would be terribly awkward for both her and the other students to have her husband as the substitute Potions instructor.

If she was honest, the past few days had not been any easier for Hermione than the week leading up to the Erumpent Potion explosion. As the threatened deadline of Ginny Weasley's murder drew ever nearer, it was all Hermione could think about. She found herself consumed by thoughts of what was happening to Ginny. Was she being tortured like Ron had been before they'd killed him? Was Ginny in pain? Was she already dead? After all, they'd killed Ron before their so-called "deadline" for him, too. Perhaps Molly Weasley had already lost two children.

Hermione tried very hard not to think about Ginny, about Ron, about Harry. When she did, she dissolved into frustrated tears and could not focus on anything except being depressed and useless. And deep down Hermione knew that she owed it to her friends to be focused and useful. So she tried hard to steel herself, to control her emotions, and to be productive. It was not easy, not at all. But she slept every night with the moss agate from Luna Lovegood very near her pillow, and it did seem to be helping to keep terrible nightmares at bay. Indeed, the previous night she'd dreamed about climbing up a castle wall, gripping onto unusually strong strands of ivy. She reached the top of the tower and gazed out upon a wide, grassy expanse and watched a beautiful sunrise. Then she awoke, feeling peaceful and serene.

Now, though, she felt anxious, waiting for Potions to begin. She was borrowing one of Severus' old cauldrons, a banged-up copper one he'd had going on twenty years. Hermione frowned a little when she realized Severus had owned the cauldron since before she was born, and then she frowned more deeply when she realized he'd been an honest-to-goodness Death Eater when he'd purchased it.

"All right, there, Hermione?" She glanced up to see Neville Longbottom putting his pewter cauldron on the work table beside her hesitantly. He gestured to the chair beside her. "All right if I sit here?"

"Oh! Of course, Neville!" Hermione gave him a meek little smile. She pulled out the chair for him, feeling terribly grateful that anyone was acting graciously toward her, most of all Neville Longbottom. She watched silently as he clumsily assembled his silver knife, stirring rod, and scales beside his cauldron. She gently cleared her throat and said, "Neville, I want to thank you very much for all of your help the other day. Your quick thinking was truly impressive. Have you… have you considered a career teaching after we leave school?"

He stared at her, looking wide-eyed and abashed. His cheeks flushed a deep scarlet and he laughed nervously, shaking his head. "Oh, no," he insisted. "I think I'd like to be an Auror someday. Like my mum and dad were. I'm much too shy to be a teacher."

"Oh, well…" Hermione sighed wistfully, turning to her own workspace, "If Professor Sprout ever retires, I think you'd make a grand Herbology professor, Neville. You really showed a level head the other day."

"Thanks, but, I could never work here now that the Carrows and -" Neville stopped short, and Hermione glanced up to see his cheeks flush an even darker red than before. She knew what he meant. He meant to say that he could never work as a teacher at Hogwarts while Severus was the Headmaster. Hermione could scarcely blame him. She vividly remembered in their third year, how his Boggart had been a figure of Severus. She smiled kindly and nodded, dropping the subject. Neville sat beside her and hesitated before asking softly, "Have you heard anything about how the Weasleys' spattergroit is doing? I've been reading about some herbal remedies; I might like to send them something…"

Hermione struggled to hold back tears as she considered how to answer Neville's question. The official story was that Ginny had contracted spattergroit, just like Ron. The disease was known to have a delayed incubation period, and so the official version was that Ginny's symptoms hadn't set in until weeks after she'd arrived at school, but that she'd not been contagious while at Hogwarts. She'd been sent away, they were telling people, and was recovering with her brother Ron.

'Poor Molly Weasley,' people murmured. 'Two out of that whole brood with such a serious disease.'

But of course Ron was dead and Ginny was captive (or worse) and no herbal remedy of Neville's would make that situation any better. So Hermione just flashed him a sad little smile, thinking of how he'd stepped so ungracefully on Ginny's toes during the Yule Ball all those years ago. She could still see the nervous expression on Neville's face, the way Ginny's red hair had whipped about as Neville had whirled her in awkward little circles. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

"I've honestly not heard anything about their spattergroit," she told Neville. "If I get any updates, I'll be certain to let you know."

Neville stared at her for a very long moment, and in his eyes Hermione could see an expression of deep hurt. His lips parted to reveal his crooked teeth, and he sighed lightly before he murmured quietly, "They don't have spattergroit, do they, Hermione?"

Hermione hesitated, then remembered that Neville was a member of Dumbledore's Army, that he'd fought valiantly alongside them at the Department of Mysteries. He was an ally. She shook her head and whispered, "No, Neville. They don't have spattergroit."

At that moment, the door to the Potions classroom creaked open, and all conversations fell instantly silent in a way they did not usually do for Professor Slughorn. It was as if the seventh-year students in the room were all transported back to their fifth year, to the last time that Severus had been their Potions Master.

He glided swiftly to the front of the classroom and took a deep breath, looking at ease and almost relieved to be back instructing the subject he'd taught for fifteen years. Hermione knew full well from things Severus had told her that Potions had never been his first choice of subject matter to teach, but she was certain he'd grown comfortable in the position through the years. Certainly, he was qualified.

He flicked at the lower hem of his frock coat and cleared his throat delicately, and Hermione felt a little shock of attraction for him jolt through her. She frowned. realizing she was in lessons under him, and that she should try not to think of him as her husband so long as he was substituting for Horace Slughorn. After all, it was entirely her fault that poor Professor Slughorn was up in the hospital wing in the first place.

"It would be inelegant of a Headmaster to speak ill of any professor," Severus drawled, "and, indeed, Horace Slughorn is one of the most skilled potioneers currently alive in Britain. However, I studied under Horace Slughorn, and I am well-aware of the fact that his lessons err on the side of chaos. You have all studied under me, and you are all well-aware that my lessons tend to be well regimented and orderly. So long as Professor Slughorn is in the hospital wing, this classroom shall be disciplined." Severus began pacing back and forth slowly, his hands clasped behind his frock coat. "You are all witches and wizards of age. Your work shall be methodical, careful, and thorough. I expect precise, accurate potions from all of you."

Hermione wanted to shrink into her chair, feeling various eyes turn to blatantly look at her as every single person in the room acknowledged that Severus was speaking not only about, but also to, Hermione herself. He was very obviously referencing the Erumpent Potion explosion that had landed him here as substitute professor in the first place. Hermione scowled and wrapped her arms around herself, trying desperately to disappear.

"Turn your texts to page one hundred and seventy-six," Severus pronounced smoothly, and every student in the room obeyed at once. Hermione flipped quickly through her book, and beside her Neville nervously did the same. Hermione glanced down at the weathered pages of her Potions book.

"Miss Patil, begin reading, if you would," Severus commanded, and Parvati Patil obeyed, clearing her throat carefully before reading from the page,

"Argutoserum is a clear, odorless solution which resembles Veritaserum insofar as it is nearly indistinguishable from water, at least superficially. It falls within the realm of Truth Serums. It is not so powerful as Veritaserum, for the drinker may not be asked specific questions when administered Argutoserum. Rather, the consumer of this potion is liable to blurt out statements which happen to be true, but are quite embarrassing and are things the drinker would not say without consuming Argutoserum. While its effects may produce amusing or dangerous confessions or admissions by the drinker, not all are subject to its effects, while other are particularly vulnerable. Therefore, this potion is controlled by the Ministry of Magic and is not permitted to be used in Wizengamot interrogations."

Severus held up a hand to stop Parvati from reading any further. He glanced around the room and, without any further pretense, said slickly, "The ingredients and instructions for Argutoserum may be found on page one hundred and seventy-seven. Begin work immediately and notify me when you have finished so that I may mark and Vanish your work."

Hermione exchanged concerned frowns with Neville. It seemed odd for Severus to assign them a potion that was controlled by the Ministry, though of course 'The Ministry' now was quite different than the one that had existed when their textbook had been published. Probably 'The Ministry' now adored and encouraged use of potions like Argutoserum. So perhaps it was not at all strange that they'd been assigned this particular brew.

"There are quite a lot of ingredients here," Hermione mumbled, glancing up to Neville. "How about I fetch half and you fetch the others, and we'll share the work, eh?"

Neville nodded with a little grin, though Hermione had to admit she felt no confidence whatsoever partnering up with Neville in Potions. He'd always been an atrocious Potions pupil. Of course, if Hermione's explosion a few days earlier was any indication, she was hardly a star Potions students herself.

Nonetheless, they divided up the ingredients list and Hermione set off to the storeroom, ticking off her list and returning to the desk with an armload of phials and jars.

"Right, then," she huffed, her bottles and pots clinking softly as she plopped them down. Beside her, Neville set down his own load, and a little green bottle went flying toward the floor out of his hands. It shattered on the ground, and they both stared at it for a long moment before Neville winced,

"Erm… right. I'll go fetch more pond slime, then."

Hermione chewed her lip guiltily as she waited for Neville to come back. She spared a glance up toward Severus and saw that he was making the rounds about the classroom, staring intently at each student's collection of ingredients. He said nothing. He never had done, in all the years he'd taught Potions. He'd always been quite the hands-off teacher, only interfering when there was a disaster, or a reason to bark condescension. He was not exactly the most encouraging or motivating mentor, Hermione had to admit.

"I'm back!" Neville announced, holding up his new bottle of pond slime cheerily. He and Hermione set to work on their batches of Argutoserum, working separately but passing one another ingredients when they were asked for.

"Have you got the Adder's Forks over there?" Hermione asked, holding her hand out distractedly as she looked down at her textbook. Neville placed a forked snake tongue into the palm of her hand, and she thanked him before chopping the Adder's Fork up and tossing it into her brew.

Neville managed to drop his entire jar of puffer-fish eyes onto the ground, eliciting a growl of disdain from Severus, who swiftly Vanished the mess from the floor. Hermione silently plopped three of her own puffer-fish eyes into Neville's cauldron, and he flashed her a quiet look of thanks. Severus glared at the two of them but stalked quickly away when he saw that Seamus Finnigan's potion was emitting a violent purple smoke.

Hermione was just finishing grinding up her moondew petals in her mortar and pestle and was about to throw them into her cauldron when she heard a sharp voice above her.

"Stop, Ms. Granger."

She raised her eyes and saw Severus hovering above her, his arms crossed over his chest, an icy glare in his black eyes. She opened her mouth to question him, but he raised his eyebrows and said cuttingly, "Read your instructions again. Do they say to grind up your moondew petals?"

Hermione set down her mortar and pestle upon the table with a shaking hand. Every time she'd ever worked with moondew flowers in a potion, she'd ground up the petals. She sighed heavily and looked down at the textbook.

Pluck the moondew petals from the stems and chop finely before dropping into cauldron.

"'Chop finely' is not the same as 'grind into oblivion, eliciting oil from the petals and thus completely changing the composition of the potion,'" Severus sneered at Hermione. She felt a twist in her chest as he spoke. He raised his dark eyebrows even higher and said in a clip, "Were you planning on blowing the room up again, Ms. Granger?"

A few tables away, Hermione heard a few low snickers as Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson found the awkward interaction quite humorous. Hermione shook her head no in response to Severus' confrontational question, and she watched as he turned on his heel and stalked away.

An odd silence had come over the Potions classroom as everyone had stopped their work to watch the Headmaster be rude to his young wife, who also happened to be a rather inept student of his. It must have looked very strange, Hermione thought. It certainly felt strange. She did not like it, not at all.

She wanted to turn around and ask Harry and Ron what the devil had just happened, but they weren't there. They would never be there again.

Fighting back tears for so many reasons, Hermione silently accepted a handful of fresh moondew petals from Neville. She put them on her table and chopped them finely with her silver knife, and then she dropped them into her potion.

* * *

"That euentyde, onen more Wycche opon the fyrst brether dyd crepe, as he laye abedde drynken.

The theuys the Wande dyd reue. Alsua, the hals of the brether was kereun.

Swa, Deth the fyrst brether dyd nyme."

Hermione stared at the ancient text for a very long time. It took her a good long while just to work out the difficult script, let alone the nearly impossible meaning behind the words. Finally, she made sense of it.

'That evening, another wizard crept up upon the first brother as he lay drunk in bed. The thief took the wand, and furthermore slit the throat of the brother. And thus Death took the first brother for his own.'

It wasn't just a story. This text was almost seven hundred years old, and the author of this illuminated manuscript was a relative of one of the original brothers. This wasn't a fairy tale - it was truth. There really was an elder wand; there must have been, or Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted Hermione to struggle through this ridiculous text. But why was it so important that she know about it? She stared and stared at the crumbling pages until her eyelids felt heavy, and then she finally tucked the book into the drawer of the small table beside the bed she shared with Severus. She slid down into the sheets and turned over onto her side, feeling the way her damp curls brushed her face on the pillow.

Severus had not yet come to bed. He had a great many matters to attend to in his office, he had said, and would be down when he could. But it was nearly ten-thirty, and Hermione was awfully tired tonight. She thought she would likely be asleep before he made it in. Honestly, tonight she didn't much care whether or not she saw him. She was rather angry with him. He'd treated her terribly during the Potions lesson he'd substituted for Horace Slughorn, right in front of everyone. She was still cross over it.

Hours after the lesson, she'd overheard Lavender Brown whisper to Parvati Patil in Charms, "Can't be the happiest marriage, can it? If that's how he talk to her in front of people?"

Humiliated, Hermione had felt her cheeks redden and had quickly excused herself to the lavatory.

So now as she lay on her side alone in their bed, she feigned sleep as she heard the door open and realized he was coming into the room. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to make her breaths steady and slow. She heard Severus' footfalls click on the floor, pausing over by his wardrobe as he stripped off his clothes. There were a few long moments of quiet, and then the sound of the sink rushing in the bathroom for a minute. Then there was a bit of pressure behind Hermione as Severus climbed into bed beside her, and she fought to keep pretending she was sleeping. But she ought to have known there was no fooling him, and she was not at all surprised when she heard him murmur,

"I'm very sorry for how I spoke to you earlier. I make no excuse. It was indecent."

She thought about ignoring him, about lying there and keeping up her ruse of sleep. But she felt a deep pang inside her chest and quickly recognized the feeling as guilt. It was not her emotion - it was his, and she was experiencing it because of the Magnum Verbum Honoris. The guilt seared through her, sour and unpleasant, and Hermione knew it was genuine. She sighed heavily and rolled over, cracking her eyes open and frowning at Severus.

"You embarrassed me," she said, though that was an obvious fact.

"I know," he said self-consciously, staring up at the ceiling from where he lay upon his back. He said again, tightly, "I'm very sorry. It shan't happen again."

Hermione pouted a bit to herself and felt her eyes burn. She mumbled, "I don't know what's come over me… I admit I've no great flair for Potions, but suddenly it seems I'm completely inept…"

"It doesn't matter," Severus said, shaking his head firmly and dragging the back of his wrist over his forehead. "If you'd tossed the the ground moondew petals into the potion, nothing would have happened. You would have wound up with a rather ineffective truth serum, that's all."

"But…" Hermione sat up and looked down at him, her jaw dropping open in anger at Severus' admission. "You asked me if I intended on blowing up the classroom again. You made it sound as though my mistake were dangerous."

Severus gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. "I apologized, Hermione. I was uncouth, I know -"

"You were deliberately cruel!" Hermione said, feeling her heart race with a sensation of betrayal.

Severus propped himself up on his elbows. Hermione tried to ignore the way his bare chest flexed in the firelight and instead scowled into his dark eyes. He pinched his thin lips at her.

"I was very nervous to be perceived as showing you any favoritism," he insisted, "though I admit I perhaps took it too far in the other direction."

"Yes, perhaps!" Hermione cried. "Lavender and Parvati said later that you and I must have a very unhappy marriage given that that's how you speak to me, you know!"

He was silent then, for a long moment, and collapsed back onto the mattress. He put his hands behind his head and sighed. "I do not care for the opinions of two teenaged girls on the state of my marriage," he declared tersely.

That set Hermione off, and she felt a burst of anger as she cried, "You're married to a teenaged girl!"

Severus' cheeks colored as he mumbled, "Yes. You're making that painfully obvious."

"What the devil is that supposed to mean?" Hermione demanded, sitting back on her knees. She balled her fists into the black t-shirt she'd worn to bed - his black t-shirt - and growled in frustration. "I don't see why it is that you're allowed to be like that I'm just supposed to… Severus, stop it."

She'd gotten distracted by a sudden wave of want flooding through her veins, by a glitter in his black eyes as his gaze coursed over her bare thighs. She could feel his desire in her own body, flickering back and forth between them, and it irritated her even more that he wanted her when she was angry with him. She scowled at him and pinched her lips.

"I'm furious with you, you know!" she cried, but he just looked up at her and his cheeks flushed a deeper scarlet. She persevered in scolding him, pushing away his lust that was mingling with her anger in her veins. Her voice trembled fiercely as she gesticulated at him and said, "It isn't fair! I have to keep on going through my days as though my friends aren't dead or in danger, as though you're not in danger, as though I'm not hated by every other person in this whole bloody school. I have to be known to be your wife and yet keep up this stupid charade because you're still the Headmaster and I made a bloody cauldron fall on Slughorn's head so now you're my teacher, too, and how am I supposed to - Severus, stop it, I can't think -"

His desire had overridden her anger enough that she was dizzy and shaking, and Hermione panted out the last few words as she reached down and planted a palm desperately upon Severus' chest. He snatched at her wrist and wordlessly dragged her hand up to his mouth, kissing her knuckles as his black eyes bored into her chestnut ones. Then he reached with his other hand for her face and pulled her down, hard, crushing her mouth against his in a kiss that was almost violent.

Hermione squealed against his mouth, feeling hot lust oscillate back and forth between them. She was angry with him, she knew, but she somehow couldn't find the strength to be cross with the way his tongue was dragging over the roof of her mouth, the way he was sucking and nibbling on her bottom lip, the way his fingers were coursing over her throat.

She moaned wantonly and her own hand gripped frantically at his chest as she moved to position herself atop him, placing a thigh on either side of his hips. Her knickers ground against his boxer-briefs, and she felt his growing bulge pushing against the wetness between her thighs.

She yanked her mouth away from him and pounded her fist onto his chest, growling angrily, "You can't do that! You can't keep me from being cross with you by initiating sex. Marriage doesn't work like that."

"Perhaps I ought to ask Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil how marriage works," Severus suggested rather slyly, and he took hold of Hermione's shoulders as he rotated the two of them until she was on her back and he hovered atop her. Hermione panted desperately, feeling a fresh rush of moisture between her thighs, a throbbing heat, and she wanted badly to feel him inside of her.

Her hand crept down between them and pawed at his erection, and a low throaty groan was ripped from Severus' lips as he bowed his head. His shiny raven hair fell in front of his eyes and his breath came quick and shallow. He rolled his hips onto Hermione's and she felt a new surge of arousal rebounding back and forth from him to her, and she could no longer tell whose was whose. It truly did not matter - it was shared.

"I… I swear to you, Hermione, I will demonstrate the utmost respect to you. In public and in private. I apologize," Severus said, his voice low and shaking. Hermione had a flashing memory of how he'd humiliated her. He'd admitted that the mockery had grossly exaggerated her mistake, and she had difficulty overlooking that cruelty. But as he raised his onyx eyes to her, she saw genuine remorse, and she nodded frantically.

"Be kind to me," she panted, wrenching her eyes shut against the feel of his body. "I love you too much to resent you."

His mouth crashed against hers then, his tongue dancing with hers in an agitated pavane as his hips ground roughly onto her body. His hands drifted up beneath the hem of her loose t-shirt to massage her breasts, and Hermione felt her nub being stimulated by his grinding so fiercely she thought she was going to peak. Hoarse grunts were coming in a steady stream from somewhere in the back of his throat, and Hermione felt her own hands grasp anxiously onto his back. She knew her fingernails were digging into his skin, and she distantly hoped she wasn't hurting him as she clutched at him.

Finally she felt his hands yank down her knickers, felt him rip at his own underwear and free his cock, and then he drove himself mercilessly into her sodden entrance with a mighty thrust. Hermione cried out his name, over and over, burying her head into his neck and gripping his waist with her knees for dear life.

He was pounding her savagely, her body feeling invaded in the most forceful manner he'd ever taken her. Thrust after thrust he filled her completely and deeply, and Hermione's frantic keening moans echoed into the dark room. His relentless pace was almost desperate, almost like he was trying to achieve something by pummeling her like he was doing. His grunts became husky and guttural, and his hands moved to grip the heavy wooden headboard after a while.

"Severus, it's too much," Hermione mewled gingerly from beneath him, for she felt so dizzy from their mutual stimulation that she thought she might faint. But she knew that the same shared feeling was driving him onward, and that he was losing control of himself because of it. Every inch of her skin felt electrified; she felt on the verge of combustion. She knew Severus was feeding off the feeling, that he could not stop.

Indeed, he accelerated his thrusting and built up the force of his movements at the instant Hermione's pleasure burst into flame, and she cried out his name like a delirious prayer. Her fingers dug into his flesh and her eyelids squeezed shut. Her ears rang so loudly she could not hear his erratic, forceful grunts, though she knew they were there. Her skin felt like it was on fire, though the heat was even stronger inside. Her walls clenched around his pistoning member, and then she felt utterly exhausted.

Then, suddenly, a fresh wave of blissful satisfaction washed over her, almost too much to bear. It wasn't hers; it was Severus' climax. He came with a few powerful jolts of his hips against her, and Hermione winced as her hypersensitive body reacted to the feel of his movements.

"Hermione!" Severus grunted through clenched teeth, and she could feel warm liquid seeping out of her body.

A few minutes later he was on his back beside her, trying to catch his breath. Hermione frowned as she yanked her knickers back on after finding them from somewhere in the depths of the sheets.

"You know," she said rather crossly, "Make-up sex is only a 'thing' if you've made up prior to the sex. That was more of sex interrupting an argument."

Severus sighed heavily. "I've apologized as many times as I can, Hermione," he said impatiently. "I promise, I shall never treat you in a way that causes Lavender Brown to deem me an unsuitable husband again."

Hermione snickered a little at that, realizing that one incident (for which Severus had profusely apologized) did not ruin a marriage. And, anyway, Lavender Brown was not exactly a relationship expert. Hermione gazed down at Severus as she watched him recover from their frantic lovemaking, grateful at the least that he'd distracted her from the past ten days of misery. Then he looked up at her and smirked, saying,

"But next time, read your damned instructions properly, would you? Then I won't have to scold you at all."

She huffed and grinned and whacked him in the face with a pillow.


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione plopped down her textbook in Transfiguration lessons the following morning and sighed wearily. She took her seat and leaned her face onto her hand, glancing up to the front of the classroom. Professor McGonagall was busily discussing something with Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass. Behind her, a piece of chalk was writing something on its own upon the blackboard. Hermione narrowed her eyes and read,

' _Advanced Human Transfiguration - Alteration of the features_.'

She groaned a little, thinking back to the previous year when they'd spent ages on the topic. Human transfiguration was enormously difficult, and Hermione remembered how much trouble they'd all had with the topic. She glanced down to her desk and for the first time noticed the tarnished silver hand mirrors at each workspace, and she groaned again under her breath.

Neville Longbottom came into the room and slumped into the chair beside her, and Hermione greeted him grumpily, pointing up to the chalkboard and frowning.

"Oh, no…" Neville scowled. "I'm no good at _all_ at Human Transfiguration. I'm never in a million years going to pass this N.E.W.T. Professor McGonagall is just too difficult…"

Hermione pinched her lips and decided to read over the topic in her textbook before lessons got started. She lifted up her book and opened it up, scanning through the pages in search of the section on Human Transfiguration. She let out a quiet little gasp when a small note fell out from in between the front cover and the first page, and she set the book down and looked and the scrap of parchment.

' _H - I truly am sorry for being a beast yesterday in lessons. Meet me after dinner in the clock tower, and I promise I shall make it up to you. - S.'_

Hermione flicked her eyes about the Transfiguration classroom, lingering beside her on Neville, who was engrossed in his own textbook. He was trying to figure out how to turn his hair blonde and curly. Hermione swallowed heavily and re-read the note four times before folding it into a small square and tucking it into the pocket of her robes. She was suddenly far less concerned with anything Professor McGonagall could throw at her than she had been before.

* * *

Truly, she was not still angry with Severus for how he'd embarrassed her in Potions lessons the day before. No one had mentioned it today except for Pansy Parkinson. The Slytherin girl had confronted Hermione on the way out of Transfiguration lessons and sneered,

"Nice work fixing the slope of your nose, Granger. Too bad it's only temporary. Would have been _one_ thing to make the Headmaster happy, eh?" She and Millicent Bulstrode had laughed cruelly, and Hermione had flat-out ignored them.

She'd frowned a bit, though, as she'd freshened up before dinner. She thought back to how he'd cocked his eyebrows at her in the Potions classroom, being deliberately condescending in front of everyone else, how he'd exaggerated the seriousness of her mistake. It was all so that he wouldn't seem to be granting her any favoritism, he'd said, but of course it had instead been terribly unkind and insulting. Hermione's bottom lip poked out in a small pout as she raked a comb through her messy hair and tamed it into a low ponytail before washing up.

She thought of Ginny, of how a clock was ticking on her friend's life, and she wondered what was happening to the girl at this very moment. If only Hermione had some reassurance that Ginny was all right, or at least that she was alive. But there were no reassurances anymore, Hermione knew, and the sooner she started to accept that, the sooner she'd stop crying and fretting like a bloody fool.

She slipped her loafers back onto her feet and made her way up to the Great Hall, taking her place among her fellow Gryffindors and poking absently at her mince pie. She found she had little appetite tonight, for she felt acutely nervous. She glanced up to Severus more than once, and every time she did she caught him staring down at her thoughtfully. He always flicked his gaze away the moment she made eye contact with him, but Hermione wondered what the devil he was thinking about, and what it was he had planned in the Clock Tower.

When at last Severus dismissed the students from their meal, she lingered behind and let everyone else make their way out before she gathered up her things. Severus had briskly walked from the Great Hall and snuck out a back doorway, and Hermione knew he would already be up in the Clock Tower by the time she got there.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she made her way to the Clock Tower entrance. She skirted around the massive swinging pendulum and spared a glance toward the portrait of Damara Dodderidge - the same portrait she'd spoken with over a year ago, the night she'd encountered Severus when she'd been sneaking down to the kitchens.

She began trekking up one of the wooden sets of stairs, climbing ever higher past the slowly swaying rod of the pendulum. She passed the landing that led to the Hospital Wing, continuing upward to the fifth floor, the deserted landing that was filled with huge iron clock mechanisms. Here were the gigantic bells, gold and copper, and the large round gears that turned slowly to power the clock.

Severus was silhouetted against the twilight where he stood, his blackoutline a shadowy, eerie figure in the dusk. Hermione swallowed resolutely as she walked toward him, her heart still pounding from climbing the stairs so quickly. His face came into view in the dim purple light of the sunset as she neared him, though there were shadows cast upon his face by the gears and bells behind him.

"Hello," she greeted him in a murmur, and he nodded in return with no discernible expression upon his stony face. Hermione shrugged and pulled the paper from her pocket, the one he'd slipped into her Transfiguration textbook. "I got your note."

Severus snorted and rolled his coal-black eyes. "Obviously… or else it could be presumed that the Clock Tower is a place you frequent nightly. I thought you might fancy a change of scenery."

Hermione chewed her lip at his slight, and then she said rather forcefully, "So I'm here for an apology, then?"

She didn't let him know that she wasn't still angry with him. After all, he'd just been rude. Again. He nodded once more and reached into his own pocket, pulling out a small clear glass phial and holding it up into the dim evening light.

"What's that?" Hermione pressed nervously. Severus cleared his throat and answered,

"Argutoserum. Perfectly brewed, I might add… I finely chopped my moondew petals and everything." He smirked down at Hermione, who frowned as she wondered how exactly taunting her with an example of ' _I'm-better-than-you-at-Potions_ ' could possibly serve as a proper apology. But then Severus plucked the cork from the phial and tipped it back into his mouth, downing the serum.

Hermione felt her mouth drop open in surprise as she remembered the description of the Argutoserum from the textbook. ' _The consumer of this potion is liable to blurt out statements which happen to be true, but are quite embarrassing and are things the drinker would not say without consuming Argutoserum.'_

She suddenly realized he had secrets that she might not want to hear. The things he might 'blurt out' on Argutoserum went far beyond an 'apology.' This seemed foolish. It seemed dangerous. Hermione gasped and said quickly, "I'm going to leave now, Severus. Goodbye."

She turned to hurry away from him, afraid of what he might say. But Severus reached out and grabbed her wrist hard, whirling her back around to face him. She stared up into his face, searching for evidence of intoxication or lack of clarity in his mind. He looked sober and serious as he cupped her jaw in his palm and touched his calloused lips to hers.

"I thought I knew what it meant to be in love," he murmured, and his fingertips reached around to pull Hermione's tie from her hair. He combed out her ponytail and raked his fingers through her waves as he continued, frowning, "I thought I was in love with Lily. I loved her. Truly, I loved her, so much that my Patronus is the same as hers. I'm not sure if I ever told you that. But I wasn't _in love with_ her, because she did not love me back. She never could, you know, and I scarcely blame her. I have absolutely no idea what is wrong with you, that you love me. Perhaps you're lying, and you don't love me at all. Or perhaps you're just a little fool. I don't know."

"Severus, please don't do this," Hermione begged, feeling hot tears searing in her eyes. A pain was coming over her, real and awful, and it belonged to him. "This isn't apologizing, and, anyway, I wasn't angry. I'm going to go to the library; I've an essay to work on…"

"I only joined Dumbledore to try to save her," Severus said, and then his eyes went wide as he realized what he'd said. Hermione felt her mouth open further, and then a look of odd relief crossed Severus' face. His voice changed a little and Hermione realized it was not the potion making him speak as he clarified, "I promised Dumbledore I would do anything to protect Lily… when I realized the prophecy was going to get her killed. I defected to save Lily."

"Why are you telling me this?" Hermione heard the weakness in her own voice, felt herself take a step backward, away from Severus. She shook her head and said forcefully, "You told me to come up here so that you could 'Make it up to me.' What are you doing, Severus?"

He blinked quickly, looking confused with himself. But more truth began spilling forth, and his hands reached for her wrists to keep her from leaving. "I joined the Death Eaters so that I would finally feel as though I were a part of something. Accepted. Wanted. I'd never felt that, never in my life. I didn't have an active hatred of Muggle-borns, but I went along with it for my own selfish reasons. I liked the Dark Arts. I still do. There's an allure to them, Hermione -"

" _Stop it, Severus!"_ Hermione ripped her wrists out of his hands and stumbled backward so hard that she fell onto the ground. She scrambled quickly to her feet and made to dash from the Clock Tower, pointing an accusatory finger at Severus. "Do not follow me. I don't wish to speak with you anymore tonight," she insisted, and Severus obeyed her, stopping dead in his tracks and halting where he stood.

As she turned to go, Hermione felt hurt tears boiling up and out of her eyes, cascading down her cheeks, and she had to pause to wipe them away so that she could see well enough to descend the steps. Behind her, she heard Severus' low, velvet voice say,

"You should not be surprised by any of that, Hermione. It's all unpleasant, and it's all true, but you should not be surprised. You've known me for years, and there's no use glossing over… in any case, there's a single truth I've wanted to tell you for some time, a truth I have not had the courage to voice without the rather puerile assistance of a truth serum."

Hermione turned around to look at him, having difficulty making out his face now that distance had once again silhouetted him against the dark purple light of the sunset. She watched as he stalked toward her like a cat, and his face came into focus, sharp and cold. He stared down at her for a brief moment and then he slowly put his hand to her throat, stroking the skin there with his calloused fingertips. Hermione shut her eyes and shivered as she listened to him speak, his voice hoarse and uncontrolled as the Argutoserum dissolved all his filters.

"The first day I touched you, I knew I was terribly in love with you. Even before then, I was attracted to you, and I felt guilty for it. There was a night - I doubt it matters as much to you as it does to me - but there was a night that Gryffindor beat Slytherin in a Quidditch match. You were upset because Lavender Brown was off snogging Ronald Weasley."

Hermione felt a clutch of pain in her chest at the mention of Ron, at the memory of jealousy over Lavender's relationship with him. She vividly recalled hiding out in a classroom, trying not to let anyone else see her adolescent agony. She nodded against Severus' hand. "I remember," she whispered. "You burst into the room with your wand drawn and you stared at me for a very long time. I thought something was the matter with you…"

"And all I could think about was that, somehow, when I wasn't looking, you'd turned into a dreadfully beautiful woman." Severus' voice cracked uncharacteristically, and Hermione opened her eyes worriedly to see him lick his bottom lip and let out a shaking breath. He continued stroking her throat, and then his fingers trailed down to her collarbone and began brushing over the skin there, back and forth between her shoulders. He spoke again, more steadily. "And I invited you to do wandless magic lessons because the things I was hearing at Death Eater meetings made me terrified for you. Of course, any Muggle-born would be affected by the new policies, but your face was all I could imagine whenever some new horror was mentioned. I had to teach you to protect yourself. You were more than able, I knew, because you're a brilliant witch, Hermione. And indeed you were, from the very start… throwing a damned hex at me so that I was bent over in the most delicious agony a man has ever felt… do you know what that was like, by the way?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her, and Hermione felt a tear worm its way down her cheek as she laughed guiltily and shook her head, remembering the day she'd cast the _Interminagaudens_ hex at poor Severus. Her cheeks colored even now with embarrassment. "No," she admitted, shaking her head. "I can't imagine… I'm so sorry."

"Endless gratification, so delicious it was almost painful, and at _your_ hand, no less. Then minutes later I was kissing you. I couldn't help myself. But it had nothing to do with the hex. I was impressed with you. And I was in love with you, even that day."

Hermione flicked her eyes downward and saw a bit of tenting in the material of Severus' black trousers. She was unsurprised that he was erect; she could feel arousal swirling back and forth between them at the memory of their first kiss. She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip and took a step nearer him, putting her hands upon his frock coat. She knew this potion did not act the same was as Veritaserum, that it was not an interrogation potion, but she could not keep herself from asking him,

"Did you like it? The first time you took me?"

He let out a quivering breath and dropped his head, almost in defeat. He nodded and raised his black eyes to her seriously. "Of course I liked it," he murmured, "and every touch of you since then has kept me alive, more than food or water or air. I can not live without you, I'm afraid, and it's nothing to do with the _Magnum Verbum Honoris._ I feel weakened by my addiction to you, and yet strengthened by your presence. It is an odd paradox, one I can not quite reconcile. All I know is that I love you - I am _in love with you_ \- and at very long last I truly understand what that means."

Hermione felt a sudden sharp pain in her left arm, and she glanced worriedly up at Severus to see him wince in discomfort.

"I have to go," he said, and he pulled a small bottle of truth serum antidote from his frock coat, quickly uncorking and downing it.

 _Smart_ , Hermione thought absently, _to bring that with him, too. But, then, Severus is a smart man._

He stood there for a long moment and gazed down at Hermione before saying, "Today is Saturday."

Hermione frowned. "No, it isn't. It's Wednesday."

Severus rolled his eyes and huffed, "Of course it's Wednesday, you silly girl. I needed to make sure I could lie before I leave."

"Oh. Yes, of course," Hermione nodded, clearing her throat as she felt him press a careful kiss to her forehead. Then she watched him descend the wooden stairs from the Clock Tower, his black robe billowing majestically behind him.

* * *

The pain with which Severus' Dark Mark was burning was more intense than he ever remembered. He could not recall a time when the summoning had been this strong, this angry. So it was with deep apprehension that he made his way across the grounds of Malfoy Manor, which were quickly fading into autumnal wilt.

He opened the front doors, decisively moving through the entryway and climbing the stone stairs as the pain in his arm mercifully began to fade. He stepped into the dining room to see Voldemort sitting at the head of the table. Also seated were Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, Yaxley and Rowle. Severus silently took a seat and waited in uncomfortable quiet as Thorfinn, Rosier, Macnair, and a few others filtered into the room. He watched as the snake Nagini slithered up onto the table.

Throwing up all of his Occlumency defenses at once, Severus remembered that the snake was a Horcrux - or, at least, he was relatively certain that the snake was a Horcrux. He began contemplating how the snake could be killed. He could think of no easy way of separating it from its master.

Finally, Voldemort spoke, his voice a low reptilian hiss. He sounded more angry than usual tonight, a fact that filled Severus with a great sense of unease.

"My _friends_ …" Voldemort began, stroking Nagini's head with an odd grace, "Earlier this evening the Manor was paid a visit by a special guest."

Severus felt a sinking feeling as he wondered whether Potter had dared to come to confront the Dark Lord, to try to fetch Ginny Weasley himself. Or, he thought, had Molly Weasley come for her daughter? In any case, his veins ran cold as he waited to hear what had happened.

"Narcissa, dear, tell me how it is that the House-Elf 'Dobby' left your employ." Voldemort shot Narcissa Malfoy an almost bored expression, continuing to stroke Nagini. Narcissa, her eyes flashing with terror, gulped and said,

"My Lord, years ago, L-Lucius was tricked into handing the elf a… a sock."

"A sock." Voldemort repeated. Around the table, Death Eaters tittered and laughed as they realized the disgraced Lucius Malfoy had been tricked into freeing his own Elf. But Severus knew better, and he watched silently as Voldemort gave an angry hiss around the table. "Silence!"

The snickering died at once. Narcissa Malfoy's eyes went wide and she swallowed visibly again. "My Lord," she continued, shaking her head minutely, "It was Potter. He tricked Lucius into handing Dobby a sock, and the wicked little creature _attacked_ Lucius immediately."

"I see." Voldemort nodded. "And so now the Elf belongs to no one! He is a free House-Elf! But, the little thing undoubtedly bears great affection for The Boy Who Tricked Lucius Malfoy Into Handing Him A Sock. No doubt whatsoever about that. It is my understanding that Dobby the House-Elf has been employed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the past several years… so I am told by the Carrows. Is this true, Severus?"

"It is," Severus admitted, "though I am made to understand the Elf has been seen in the Hog's Head, drinking butterbeers with Aberforth Dumbledore."

"Ah! Then this next bit should come as no surprise, either!" Voldemort said. His voice grew soft and menacing as his pale eyes made contact with every pair around the table. Severus wondered if he was using Legilimency on each Death Eater as he spoke, and he strengthened his mental defenses. Voldemort said, "Earlier tonight, there was a great commotion in the room where Ginevra Weasley was being held. When the door was thrown open by the guards, who was seen Disapparating straight out of the room but Dobby the House-Elf, taking dear Ginny Weasley with him. ' _You shall never have Harry Potter!'_ the little House-Elf cried, and with a snap of his little Elven fingers, he and the girl were gone! Where they have gone, no one can say!"

A low murmur erupted around the table as everyone seemed to realize at once that their prisoner had escaped, that Potter had managed to manipulate his allies into fetching his girlfriend from the Manor.

"Mulciber, Thorfinn, and Rowle," Voldemort said smoothly, "I want you to go straight to Hogsmeade. Bring me Aberforth Dumbledore. I wish to know precisely how many butterbeers little Dobby has had at the Hog's Head recently… and whether Aberforth knows anything about Potter's whereabouts."

Mulciber, Thorfinn, and Rowle quickly rose from their seats and dashed from the room, leaving the rest of the table in stunned silence. Severus struggled to keep his face impassive and blank, to show no emotion whatsoever. He tried not to demonstrate any alarm when Voldemort turned to the Malfoys and said,

"Lucius… the day you handed that damned House-Elf a sock, you sealed your fate once and for all. I've shown you mercy so many times I could properly be labeled a fool for it. Your family has proven to be nothing but a burden to me. Except for this…" He gestured around at his luxuriant surroundings and mumbled, "I shall keep the house, and everything and everyone inside of it. But as for you, Lucius… any usefulness you bore me was exhausted years ago. You are now utterly pointless to me."

A look of deep fear crossed Lucius' prematurely aged face as both he and Narcissa (and everyone else at the table) realized that Voldemort was about to kill him. But then Severus saw a dull gaze of consideration in Voldemort's eyes. The Dark Lord was anything but merciful, but he was shrewd and intelligent. If he outright murdered Lucius Malfoy, he would enrage Narcissa, who was the sister of Bellatrix (his most loyal follower). Lucius was also a longtime friend of most of the most useful Death Eaters. A Killing Curse pointed at Lucius Malfoy tonight would be counterproductive at best.

Voldemort sniffed a little and waved his hand dismissively. "Get out of my sight, Lucius. I do not wish to sully my field of vision with your morose face. Go. Leave me."

"Yes, My Lord," Lucius whispered, pushing his chair backward and quickly rising, stumbling from the dining room with a mixture of drink and terrified relief.

* * *

The morning of Hallowe'en dawned with a cold rain that cast an unfriendly gloom all over the grounds of Hogwarts. Hermione felt the wet chill go straight to her bones as she marched in silence down the slippery staircases from Advanced Arithmancy lessons and made her way to the Great Hall for lunch. Her mind was numb after a particularly challenging lesson with Professor Vector.

The last month had passed in relative quiet, with only the occasional jolt of terrible reality. Every now and then, a student for whom Hermione bore some level of good will would be assigned detentions, and in the New Era of Hogwarts, that meant unholy curses and tortures of the worst kind, usually at the hands of the Carrows. The school had come down with a desperate sort of malaise that seemed to cast shadows into every nook and cranny.

Hermione felt tired, as though no amount of sleep were sufficient. She felt weak, as though energy were being constantly sapped from her. And she could see the same in Severus - the way the bags beneath his eyes had grown darker and heavier. He was looking older by the day, she thought… more weary. Today, more so than most other days, the despair was heavy and oppressive.

She slipped on a patch of wet slime on a stone step as she descended a spiral staircase from the Arithmancy classroom and landed square upon her bum, sliding down five or six stairs painfully. She grunted with exasperation as her books went flying, sending parchments sailing through the air like snowflakes before they settled upon the wet steps and absorbed water. She gasped and snatched at them, hurriedly trying to dry them with spells from her wand, but it was no use. Four or five sheets' worth of ink were irreparably blurred, and the work would have to be redone.

Hermione was in a properly sour mood, therefore, when she yanked out the bench at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall and tossed her bag down beside her.

"All right, Hermione?" asked Neville Longbottom carefully. Hermione scowled until she saw the look of genuine concern upon her old friend's face. Beside him, Seamus Finnigan glanced up from his meat and potato pasty, also looking alarmed. Hermione tried to soften her expression, realizing she must look awfully snippy in her foul mood. There was no helping the wild frizz atop her head in this rain, she knew, which probably was only helping her look less sane.

She sighed and said gently, "I'm sorry, Neville… I'm fine. I slipped and fell on the stairs, and -"

"LUNA LOVEGOOD!"

Hermione whirled around her shoulder, her eyes going wide in shock as Alecto Carrow came storming into the Great Hall and thundered her way toward the Ravenclaw table. All conversation in the Hall fell immediately silent as the stern-faced Dark witch snarled and held up a copy of _The Quibbler_ , the wizarding tabloid published by Luna's father, Xenophilius Lovegood. Hermione felt her heart sink a bit.

Xenophilius Lovegood had always published some mad articles in _The Quibbler,_ but it had always been harmless drivel - until this year. Of late, she understood, his articles had become radically dissenting against the New Order… dangerously so. Xenophilius was actively speaking out in favor of Harry Potter, and against Lord Voldemort. It was going to put Xenophilius - or Luna - in serious danger.

Sure enough, Alecto Carrow, jabbed her bony finger at the cover of the tabloid and hissed loudly, "You stupid girl! Have you any idea what your idiot father has gone and published now?"

"Well, Professor Carrow," Luna said with a preternatural calm, setting her fork down and swallowing the bite she had been chewing, "I had not discussed this issue with him… but I can read the cover. ' _SIXTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE NIGHT HARRY POTTER DEFEATED YOU-KNOW-WHO.'_ Hmm. Yes… that _was_ Hallowe'en, all those many years ago, wasn't it, Professor Carrow?"

Luna looked almost nostalgic, giving a serene smile to Alecto Carrow, and Hermione felt a surge of fear trickle through her veins as Alecto growled and whipped her wand from her robes. She Vanished the copy of _The Quibbler_. When she spoke, the entire Hall could hear, for the place had gone deathly silent.

"You would do well to tell your treacherous father that this _filth_ has no place being printed, you little fool," Alecto said, and she pointed her wand at Luna. " _Crucio!"_

Hermione gasped in horror as Luna crumpled to the floor from the Ravenclaw bench, convulsing and shrieking in a manner Hermione had never heard from the perpetually gentle girl. Her pale, smooth hands curled into claws, clutching at the floor until Hermione could hear her nails scraping against the stones hideously. Her long, blonde hair fell in front of her face, partially obscuring the demonic expressions of pain crossing her usually sedate features.

Hermione's mind screamed for it to stop, and she nearly flew from the bench in a misguided effort to save Luna. She looked up to the Headmaster's Chair for Severus, but then her eyes flicked around when she saw he wasn't there. He was, in fact, already making his way toward the scene at the Ravenclaw table, and he silently flicked his wand at Luna Lovegood to release her from Alecto Carrow's Cruciatus Curse.

"I believe that will suffice, Professor Carrow," he said smoothly. Alecto frowned deeply at him and huffed as she turned on her foot, but Severus stood his ground and stared at her imperiously. The Great Hall stayed silent for a long, interminable, painful moment as hot tears of shame and rage boiled up into Hermione's eyes. She just wanted all of this madness to stop, for there to be no more awful pain or death for her friends or for anyone else.

She watched as Severus silently held out a hand, watched as Luna Lovegood struggled to stand, listened as she proudly but quietly murmured, "Thank you, Professor Snape."

And then she heard her husband sneer, "Do tell your deranged father that it would be in his best interest to immediately cease publication of his insane and scandalous tabloid, Miss Lovegood."

Then, with a haughty snap, Severus adjusted his sleeves and sauntered briskly away from Luna, leaving her standing with a bloody lip and a bruised cheekbone in the middle of the silent Great Hall, with hundreds of hushed faces ogling her.

* * *

"I don't see how that could possibly work, Severus. No one is in the mood for it. Not at all."

"I realize that. It was not my idea." Severus poured a rather liberal amount of Elf-made wine and sipped at the blood-red liquid, savoring its woody tones.

"Well, whose was it?" Hermione held out her empty glass to him, and he poured hers only halfway full. She cocked an eyebrow and stood waiting until he added another inch of liquid to her glass with an impatient sigh.

"Horace Slughorn's," he admitted finally. "The old man said he could no longer stand the gloom around this place. 'The school's gone properly funereal,' he told me… he said when he 'fell asleep' the place was fine, and when he woke up it was as though Dementors had gotten to everyone."

Hermione sighed deeply. "Well, I can see what he means," she said, taking a long sip of her wine. Severus watched her drink, staring at her as she gazed into the fire. A little of the glint in her chestnut eyes had gone out the past few weeks. She looked world-worn, he realized, as though the combination of Ronald Weasley's death and the stress of worrying over Harry Potter had taken its toll on her very being.

Then there had been the fact that she'd stayed up long nights fretting over whether there were more Horcruxes, and, if there were, where they might be. She had many ideas, she'd told him, though she'd seemed reluctant to share until she was more certain on how to find and destroy them. Right now, she'd said, she had only loose hunches, nothing concrete. She'd also been obsessively reading her copy of _Ende of Deth_. The only thing of note in the past month to come of that book had been an illustration of the Elder Wand, which Hermione had noted looked remarkably like the wand Albus Dumbledore had always used.

But even then, they weren't yet entirely sure what to do with that information, and Dumbledore had been interred with his wand. So, they'd just ruminated on more hunches, more gut feelings, letting the facts and notions and ideas and dreams seep into their veins and wear them down. They were both tired, very tired, and frustrated. He knew she was frustrated; he could feel it in his bones, shot into him straight from her very core. And he knew that she could sense how exhausted he was from having to perpetuate his image as a loyal Death Eater. Not only _pretending_ to be a wicket Headmaster, but actually carrying out the deeds of one… it was truly draining, both for him and for her.

For the first time, Severus had to wonder if he'd done Hermione an enormous disservice by making the vow of _Magnum Verbum Honoris_. They were exhausting one another with their mutual fatigue, their shared depression. They were wearing on one another instead of building one another up.

And now, just today at lunch, two rather awful things had happened which conspired to make Severus' life even worse. First, Alecto Carrow had confronted Luna Lovegood - and _tortured_ the poor girl - without asking Severus' permission. He'd freed the girl from the Cruciatus, but he'd still had to maintain a cold distance. Of course, all he could think of as Luna Lovegood had writhed in agony on the ground was the day in Diagon Alley when he'd disguised himself with a youth potion, when Luna had been the only one to recognize him with Hermione.

' _I am not sure if I'll ever know all the details, sir, or the truth at all. But I know you're not a murderer, sir.'_

Then Severus had been cruel to her; he'd shot back sarcastically, ' _Thank you, Miss Lovegood. Your confidence means everything to me.'_

Now, standing in his quarters with Hermione, he found himself sipping his Elf-made wine awfully quickly as he thought back to how poorly Luna Lovegood had been treated, by a great many people, very often by himself. The way she'd looked with her face contorted in agonizing pain. He poured himself a fresh glass of wine and sipped again.

"How exactly does Professor Slughorn think that a _ball_ is going to cheer anyone up? Has he ever _met_ teenaged girls? All they do at balls is cry about their dresses, and about their dates. This is a terrible idea," Hermione scoffed and swigged at her own wine, plopping down into a wingback chair.

Ah, yes. The damned ball. That was the other awful thing that had happened today. Horace Slughorn had come storming into his office, unannounced and uninvited. The old wizard had only been out of the hospital wing for a few days, but he still didn't seem entirely right in the head, if Severus was honest. Slughorn had complained about the dour state of Hogwarts, about how his sour-faced students were performing worse-than-usually in Potions lessons.

"What we need, my dear boy, is a good party!" Slughorn had insisted, and Severus had been unable to conceal the unmitigated disgust on his face. Behind him, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore had cackled rather gleefully and agreed,

"Oh, quite right, Horace! I do think some merrymaking is well-called-for just about now. These poor students have had little joy, I'm afraid."

"I do not recall asking your opinion, _Headmaster_ ," Severus had sneered over his shoulder, and the portrait of Dumbledore pinched its wrinkled lips in a shame-faced grin. Severus had turned back to Horace Slughorn and shrugged. "I fail to see how that will 'lighten the mood,' and why that should even be a primary goal. And, anyway, I do not care for such events."

"But it isn't for you!" Slughorn had insisted. "It is for the _students!_ And, come now, you know I enjoy such events. Allow me to plan it! It shall be just like my Slug Club parties, only scaled up so all might attend! I've been in a deep slumber for some time; I should enjoy the opportunity to have a rolicking good time at last."

Slughorn had flashed him a simpering smile then, and Severus had frowned deeply. Beneath that grin had been a reminder that it had been _Hermione_ to cause the cauldron to fall upon Slughorn's head and nearly kill him. _You owe me this damned party, Severus Snape_ , Slughorn's shit-eating grin seemed to say. So Severus had rolled his black eyes and grimaced and nodded.

"Well," Hermione prodded, "when is this ball, then? I need to get my dress in order."

"Two weeks," Severus told her. Then, just like he'd done earlier, he rolled his eyes and said, "Please do not go overboard with attire. I certainly shan't be."

"Oh, no… I wouldn't expect you to do so." Hermione sipped delicately at her wine, and Severus scowled at her, shifting his weight upon his feet.

"What the devil is _that_ supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Oh," Hermione said tightly, looking up at him as though she had just noticed him standing there. She took another sip of wine, scanned her eyes up and down the length of him, and said, "I just mean… well, you wear the same thing every day, essentially, so…"

Severus felt his cheeks color. "That does not mean I am _incapable_ of dressing formally," he clipped. Hermione grinned and held out her empty wine glass to request a refill. Severus flicked his wand boredly at the wine bottle and directed it to pour Elf-made wine into her glass, sighing gruffly, "I own very formal clothing, you know. I have dressed quite poshly in my day."

"Well, of course you have," Hermione agreed, downing her wine in three big gulps. She spoke condescendingly, and Severus pursed his lips, feeling irritated. She didn't sound very convinced, after all, and it bothered him for a reason he couldn't pin down. She thought he was _boring_ , and, worse that that, she thought it was funny that he was boring. He sighed.

"You just wait, little girl." Severus set his wine glass down on the mantle and put his finger beneath her chin, tipping it up toward him. Suddenly her chestnut eyes went wide, and he marveled to see the old familiar glint come back to them all at once, the old heat. He smirked and said, "You put on your pretty little dress and your high-heeled shoes. You do hair hair up in shiny curls and put on your lipstick. And you just wait until you see your husband. Hmph."

He lowered his face as though he meant to kiss her, and he heard her breath quicken in her nostrils. But then he let out a soft little laugh and pulled his face away, hearing Hermione whimper in disappointment.

* * *

"Do me up, would you, please, Parvati?"

Hermione had returned to the Gryffindor girls' dormitory to prepare for Professor Slughorn's Autumn Ball. She'd talked to Lavender and Parvati about it a few days earlier and had asked the girls if they'd mind terribly helping her with her hair and makeup.

"Of course, Hermione!" Lavender had said happily. "Just because you're a married woman doesn't mean friends can't help you primp yourself up!"

Hermione had smiled gratefully, but had thought it odd that Lavender had referred to herself and Hermione as 'friends.' Perhaps they had been 'friendly,' Hermione thought, but even after (or perhaps _especially_ after) six years living in the same room, she and Lavender and Parvati did not exactly share a deep and abiding sisterhood.

If Hermione was honest, it was Ginny Weasley's advice she wanted tonight as she got ready for the ball. Ginny, after all, had never been one to agonize between the subtle differences between shades of lipstick. But Ginny had always managed to look nice for events - classy and pulled-together. Hermione missed her tonight more than she'd done in weeks, and a bitter tear wormed its way to her eye as Lavender said,

"Now suck your cheeks in - like _this!_ "

Hermione watched as Lavender pulled an odd face to demonstrate how to emphasize one's cheekbones for proper blusher application, and Hermione furrowed her eyebrows but mimicked the odd motion. Lavender dabbed a giant fluffy brush over Hermione's face, and once again Hermione wondered where Ginny and Harry were. Where they together? Had Dobby managed to get Ginny to wherever Harry was? Where they alive? Safe? Healthy? And how the blazes could she help them? After weeks of searching her mind and her books, she felt that she'd hit dead end after dead end… that she was useless in the quest to vanquish Voldemort.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" She turned her distracted face up to Lavender, who was holding out a rhinestone-encrusted mirror to Hermione for approval. Hermione looked at her reflection and felt a bit of relief come over her. Her face didn't look bad. In fact, it looked quite nice. Lavender had done her eyes in a smoky, charcoal sort of look. Her eyeliner flicked out in a cat-eye appearance, and her mascara was heavy and serious. Her lips were a matte red, with a prominent Cupid's bow shaped carefully by Lavender's experienced hand. Her cheeks had just the right flush of color.

For her dress, Hermione had chosen an off-the-shoulder, black gown made of a metallic-woven silk. It fitted her frame perfectly and then slunk to the ground heavily, with a rather scandalous slit working its way up her thigh. She wore high-heeled black velvet pumps and a single strand of pearls around her neck. Her hair had been tamed into a sleek cascade of waves around her shoulders.

"Hermione!" Parvati gasped as she walked into the girls' bathroom, "You look like a… a… what do the Muggles call it? A ' _bombshell'_!"

"Oh, I think your husband's going to be _very_ pleased," Lavender giggled, and Hermione gasped and swatted at her shoulder playfully. The other girls looked very nice as well, having donned formal attire and an obscene amount of makeup and jewelry.

But as Hermione made her way to the cleared-out Great Hall for Slughorn's party, she couldn't help but wonder what her friends would wear if they were here. She thought back to the Yule Ball in their Fourth Year, to the way Neville Longbottom had struggled so hard to learn to dance, only to clumsily step all over Ginny's toes once the night came. She thought of how both Harry and Ron had put off asking dates for so long. She thought of how poor Ron had been forced to wear old, moth-eaten dress robes that had humiliated him.

She sighed wistfully as she heard the strains of music coming from the Great Hall. She could still see them, all of them. The boys, looking awkward and unsure, and Ginny, her red hair swirling furiously as Neville spun her around. That night hadn't ended well… she wished it had ended better. It didn't matter now. None of them were here with her. And, far worse, she was not there for them.

At the very least, Slughorn had seemed to be right about the ability of a party to raise the spirits of the students who _were_ at Hogwarts. Hermione watched as couples and groups of friends made their way into the Great Hall, grinning and giggling in ways she had not seen in months. Most of them ignored the fact that Amycus and Alecto Carrow were standing guard outside the Great Hall with sour frowns upon their faces. They marched right on by the Death Eater professors, proudly strutting on into the Great Hall in their formal finery, lured inside by the music.

Hermione held back and watched as a group of fourth-year Hufflepuff girls practically skipped into the Great Hall, all wearing brightly colored gowns. They didn't seem to have dates, and they didn't seem to care. They were reveling in one another's friendship, and that was enough to make them happy, if only for tonight. Hermione was simultaneously fiercely jealous and deeply relieved. It had been difficult to see Hogwarts dissolve into such doldrums over the past month. Still… seeing such blissful expressions of amiable relationships made her green with envy.

Finally, Hermione decided that the Headmaster's wife ought to make an appearance at the Potion professor's autumnal ball. She wondered distantly as she walked toward the Great Hall whether Severus was going to dance with her at all, and whether he would like her 'pretty little dress.'

Just as she was about to go inside, she heard a timid little voice behind her.

"Oh… hello, Hermione!"

She turned round to see Luna, who flicked a fearful glance far over Hermione's shoulder at Alecto Carrow before looking with feigned confidence back to Hermione.

"Hi, Luna," Hermione said kindly. "You look lovely!"

And, truly, Luna did, in her own unique way. She was wearing a rather oddly-shaped white dress that was fitted through the hips, and then billowed out into a series of poofs, each one a different color than the last. Her pale hair had been placed over one shoulder in a single thick braid, through which iridescent thin ropes had been woven. She wore glittery eye makeup and a silvery sort of lip shimmer. She looked almost as though a unicorn had met an alien, Hermione thought, though the results were oddly pretty.

Luna stepped close to Hermione and lowered her voice, smiling gently. "Have you been sleeping with the moss agate I gave you near your head?" she asked.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows but nodded fervently. "I have," she affirmed, "and I haven't been having nearly the nightmares I might have thought. Thank you, Luna. Truly."

Luna nodded knowingly. "I can tell you're sleeping at night," she said, "even though you look very tired. There are many types of exhaustion, you know. There's the kind where your body's tired, because you're not sleeping. But that's not what I see in your eyes. Your _soul_ is tired. You're not having nightmares while you sleep, Hermione. You're living them during the day."

Hermione took a step backward from Luna suddenly and scowled deeply. "Luna," she began, shaking her head, but Luna continued,

"I know. I know what it feels like. Helpless." Then Luna sighed heavily, with not an ounce of tremble in her breath, and she smiled again at Hermione with an odd, preternatural calm. A peace came over her pale eyes as she said, "It was very kind of Professor Slughorn to throw this party for us. To distract us. Don't you think? Let's go inside and enjoy it!" And she held out her arm for Hermione, who took it and followed her friend into the Great Hall.

Hermione flicked her eyes around the expansive room searching for Severus, for his characteristic long cloak or the lines of his frock coat. For a good long moment, she couldn't find him among the crowd. She frowned a little as she wondered where he was, and then suddenly a smartly-dressed man turned round from a conversation with Professors Vector, Slughorn, and McGonagall. And there was his face - there he was - her husband.

"Oh!" Luna exclaimed happily beside Hermione. "The Headmaster looks very dignified tonight, doesn't he? Do you remember last year when I told you that you ought to dance with him at Professor Slughorn's party? Hm… perhaps tonight you shall!"

She smiled very warmly and patted Hermione's arm, and then she walked quietly away toward the long table filled with a series of floating chocolate fountains. Hermione felt her mouth drop open, and for a moment she watched Luna go before turning in awe back to the figure of Severus, who was gliding smoothly toward her.

It was as if there was no one else in the Great Hall, though of course there were _many_ other people there. Hermione could see only him. He wore a perfectly tailored tailcoat, a crisp white dress shirt, a white waistcoat and bow tie, and slim-fitting dress black trousers. An asymmetrical black hip-length wool cape hung askew to his right side - the "wizarding" touch on his otherwise completely Muggle-style white tie ensemble.

Hermione stood stock still in place on the edge of the space that had been cleared for dancing. As Severus approached her, a few of the couples of dancing students paused or slowed to watch the Headmaster pass, giving him odd looks. Everyone else seemed just as surprised as Hermione to see him "out of uniform."

"Good evening, Ms. Granger," Severus said in a slick tone, flashing Hermione the smallest bit of a smirk as he stepped up to her. He was pretending, she could see, that he did not realize the eyes of the whole room were on him, were on her.

Hermione licked her bottom lip and whispered dryly, "You look very handsome tonight, Headmaster."

He cocked his head to the side rather slyly and quirked up one side of his mouth. "Not a bad effort from an old man who owns one set of clothing, eh?"

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. "You are not old," she mumbled, "and I happen to know you have an entire wardrobe full of clothing."

"Yes, well…" Severus said quietly, taking another step toward her but maintaining enough distance for public decency, "you look… splendid, Hermione. Beautiful."

"Thank you." Hermione smiled a little. She flicked her eyes to the side and saw Luna Lovegood standing at the snack table, filling a small glass with bubbling punch. Luna smiled and raised her glass happily to Hermione, who sighed wistfully and turned back to Severus. She chewed her lip. "You know," she said, "I'm not sure whether you recall or not. But about eight months ago, Luna Lovegood tried to convince me to ask you to dance up in Professor Slughorn's office… at the party."

Severus cocked an eyebrow. "How could a man possibly forget awkward Disillusioned swaying in a corridor?" he demanded.

Hermione nodded in conciliation. "Fair enough. I… would you care for a repeat performance?"

"More awkward Disillusioned swaying in a corridor? No." Severus shook his head firmly. "But I should like very much to take you out on this dance floor, as my wife, for a proper waltz, if you'll have me."

He held out his hand to her then, and Hermione felt a flutter of affection for him. She stared down at his hand for a long moment, and then up at his angular face, and in his black eyes she actually saw a glint of uncertainty, as though she might reject him. She smiled a bit and put her fingers in his palm delicately, and she followed him out onto the dance floor.

She knew every single person there was watching them as he confidently eased her right hand up to his chest height and wrapped his slender fingers firmly around hers. Hermione shivered and breathed through unwillingly parted lips, trying not to look like a wanton little girl with a crush as she stared into his dark eyes. She felt his right hand rest gently upon the small of her back, and she somehow managed to put her shaking left hand upon his shoulder. Then he started moving them in an elegant pattern upon the floor to the beat of the music, and Hermione whispered,

"Everyone is staring at us."

"I find myself utterly bereft of concern for their opinions, Ms. Granger," Severus murmured gently. "I have far too many important things to occupy my mind at the present time. You are aware of most of them… serious things, of course. None of them quite so serious as the matter of getting this blasted dress off of you the moment this accursed social event is over."

Hermione giggled quietly and tipped her head forward against his sternum, struggling to keep her movements fluid with his. She looked up at him again, admiring the way he'd managed to keep his face so grim even through his joke. She tried to erase her smile and she nodded gravely. "Yes," she agreed. "That is a serious matter indeed."

She danced three songs in a row with Severus before they both decided it would be best if they split up and conversed separately with people for a while… for appearance's sake. Hermione chatted with Neville, Luna, Hannah Abbott, Cho Chang, and about a dozen other students who were nothing but friendly to her. She talked with some of her professors - even a few of the ghosts who had made appearances. She was very grateful that Professor Slughorn had thought of trying to cheer everyone up, and she was shocked that it had worked. She was grateful that Severus had let Professor Slughorn throw his foolish little party.

And she was dreadfully heartbroken at the faces who weren't there to enjoy it.

* * *

The end of the night came too soon. The small string ensemble packed up their instruments, and the House-Elves' magic made short work of what was left of the snacks and beverages. Students filtered back to their dormitories in a slow but steady stream.

Hermione had been right, of course. There were plenty of fifteen-year-old girls crying because of 'boy problems,' and a great many young pubescent males scowling at one another, jealous over a girl. She found herself rather glad to be done with all of those adolescent dramatics. She watched her teenaged classmates leave in clumps, and she felt a great disconnect from them. Then she glanced back across the Great Hall to where her husband stood, resplendent in his white tie attire, watching over the room imperiously. She felt a tug toward him, and her feet carried her across the darkened expanse in his direction quite against her own will.

Her high heels clicked on the floor - _clack, clack, clack_ \- sounding obnoxiously loud now that the music had stopped playing and the conversations had died. She held her fluid black skirts up in bunched fists at her sides so she didn't trip, and she tried to walk with the grace of a woman as she neared Severus. He did not cross his arms over his chest as he so characteristically did; that would have pulled awkwardly at his fitted tuxedo jacket. Instead, he clasped his hands together in front of him and cocked his eyebrows in her direction as she approached.

"Extended curfew begins in ten minutes, Ms. Granger," Severus said in a low purr. "I suggest you make your way downstairs now."

Hermione felt her heart quicken in her chest a bit. She glanced beyond Severus, to where Professor Flitwick was arcing his wand about elegantly, taking down Professor Slughorn's autumnal decorations. The Great Hall was quickly returning to its normal state, and the general merriment the ball had brought on was fading fast. Somehow, Hermione thought, she wanted - _needed_ \- to preserve the momentary bliss that the stupid dance had given them all.

"And what time is the Headmaster's curfew?" Hermione asked playfully. Severus snorted and rolled his eyes a bit.

"You may expect me when my duties up here are completed," he pronounced in a bit of a clip. Then he jutted his chin toward the large wooden doors and said again, "Go. You are not exempt from the rules."

Hermione frowned a bit at him but nodded. She turned to leave, and then heard his silky voice again from behind her.

"Hermione."

She turned round, feeling her stomach quiver as he said her first name for the first time that evening. "Yes?" she whispered, still only a few feet from him. Severus stared down at her for a moment before he murmured, so softly that Hermione knew she was the only one who could hear him,

"Leave the dress on. I want to be the one to take it off."

* * *

Hermione stood in the small bathroom and stared at her made-up face in the mirror for a long moment. Her black-rimmed eyes were heavy with tiredness, and her lipstick had smudged a bit. She thought about touching up her cosmetics, but then she decided against it. Undoubtedly, Severus was only going to mess them up further.

She put the little rubber stopper into the drain of old white porcelain sink and filled the basin with warm water, submerging a white washcloth a bar of soap that smelled like lemon and sage. She swished the soap around until the water was cloudy, and then she wrung out the washcloth. She dragged it over her bare arms and shoulders and sighed with relief at the feel of it, of taking the day's grime from her skin.

She dipped the washrag into the filled basin of the sink again and wrung it out, watching as the milky water drizzled and plinked from the terrycloth. She shut her eyes and coursed the cloth over her face, letting at least some of her makeup stain the cloth as the warm water steamed her tired skin. Then she just stood, for a long and silent moment, with the warm cloth covering her eyes, and she let out a quivering breath.

Where was Ginny? Where was Harry? Were they alive? Were they safe? Were they together? Tonight she would be with Severus; would Ginny and Harry at least find comfort in one another's presence to sooth the terrible pain of Ron's loss? Did they even know that Ron was dead?

In the weeks since Ginny had escaped Malfoy Manor with Dobby, Severus had only been summoned once by Lord Voldemort. And at that singular meeting, the focus had apparently been on the happenings of Dolores Umbridge's atrocious wand confiscations through the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. Only once had the subject of Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter come up, when it was revealed that Aberforth Dumbledore was being held and interrogated. But, apparently, Severus was not to be privy to any more information than that.

So Hermione knew nothing. She did not know where her friends were, if they were still alive.

If they knew that Ron was dead.

She dunked and wrung the washcloth once more and dragged it softly around her face, trying to rid herself of the black blots from smeared mascara and the red shadow of old lipstick around her mouth.

How many Horcruxes were there? And where were they located? And what was the significance of _Ende of Deth_ , the tome that contained multiple illustrations of what seemed clearly to be Albus Dumbledore's distinctive wand? Hermione's mind reeled as she cleaned her face. She reached rather anxiously for the stopped inside the sink and watched the cloudy water disappear in a swirl down the drain, listening to its final desperate gurgle as the basin emptied. She dabbed on a bit of cream to keep her skin from drying out, and then she stared into the mirror again, wondering how she was supposed to help. _Whether_ she could help. Whether she was useless.

Then she heard the gentle sound of a door opening and closing - the door that led from their private quarters to Severus' old office - and she knew Severus was back from his duties upstairs. All he'd had to do, she thought dryly, was stand about and glare at everyone as decorations and food were Vanished, as students were safely tucked away into dormitories, and as other professors started rounds of the corridors. But, of course he'd made it sound as though he was going to be _terribly busy_ before coming downstairs. Hermione knew better. She knew he'd been standing up there itching to make his way down to the dungeons, anxious to tear her dress frantically from her body and ravish her. She'd been able to see the hunger in his eyes all night.

She was a bit surprised, therefore, to see the calm in his dark eyes when he appeared in the threshold of the bathroom. He was still wearing his full white tie tuxedo, and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat a little to see how handsome - how _sexy_ \- he looked in it. She huffed a bit to herself and turned back to the mirror, scrubbing at her face with the washcloth to remove a stubborn smudge of mascara from beneath her left eye.

In the mirror above the sink, she could see Severus' fingers go up to his neck and smoothly unfasten the button of his dress cape, which he unfurled from his form and lay gently across the edge of the claw-foot tub. He leaned rather nonchalantly against the doorframe and raked the fingers of his left hand through his raven hair as if relaxing for the first time all evening.

"It wasn't so bad, was it?" Hermione asked finally, folding the washcloth and setting it down. She put her hands on the edge of the sink and raised her eyes up to the mirror, looking at Severus' reflection for an answer. He chuckled silently and shook his head in reluctant acknowledgment.

"Not nearly so bad as I'd feared," he admitted. He pulled himself from the doorjamb and stalked, cat-like, toward Hermione, his reflection growing larger as he approached. Then she could smell him, and she was intoxicated. Herbs and spices and wood and leather, all mingled together in a manly aroma that was just _him_ , and Hermione felt desire boil up in her throat. She knew he could sense that she wanted him… or perhaps she was sensing his desire.

She had long since determined that their arousal was very usually mutual and therefore it didn't matter whose was whose. Almost immediately within an encounter, their wants became shared and tangled and amplified each other's.

Hermione could feel her breath grow shallow and quick through her nostrils as the heat of his taller form pressed against her back. She stared at their reflection in the mirror above the sink to see his onyx eyes coursing over her form. He reached down and took her right hand in his and raised them up, bringing her knuckles to his lips and kissing them gently. Hermione shivered as he murmured against their hands,

"I would have been utterly miserable tonight, to be certain… except that I was entranced by the presence of the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Hermione watched as her own eyes suddenly rimmed red with unsolicited emotion, as all the sentiment she'd been stifling for the entire night boiled up and let itself out. A lone tear glided down her cheek. Just as it was about to tumble from her jaw, Severus released Hermione's hand and reached his slender fingers out to catch the tear, brushing it away and cupping her jaw in his palm.

"You said you weren't going to 'go overboard with attire,'" Hermione teased him gently, and she leaned back meaningfully against the crisp white dress shirt that sat so smartly beneath his tailcoat. Severus smirked.

"I didn't."

"That's a right load of bollocks," Hermione giggled softly. "You look as though you were hosting a state dinner… it isn't fair. To show up dressed like that and dance with me the way you did and tell me I have to act decently around you."

"I'm certainly not telling you to act decently _now_ ," Severus said smoothly.

He dragged her hair aside and lowered his lips to touch her neck, sending a shiver of want straight to Hermione's core. She watched in the mirror as his slender fingers curled around the straps of her gown and pulled gently downward, tortuously slowly. She wanted to watch him bare her skin, wanted to watch him kiss her neck, but she was utterly powerless to the way her eyelids fluttered shut. The image in the mirror vanished, and a surge of heat overtook her.

"Severus…" she whispered rather desperately, feeling her hands grip the sides of the sink to keep her from crumpling to the floor as he knees went weak. His only response to his name was a soft sigh against her neck, a warm exhale of breath that just made her want him more. His tongue gently, slowly lathed there, and he nursed and suckled her delicate skin. His hands continued pulling her dress down, revealing her strapless bra and her navy cotton knickers that were immodestly cut for the evening gown.

Eventually the black liquid material of the dress gave way entirely and fell with a soft _thud_ to pool around Hermione's feet. She shivered in the cool air of the bathroom, and then again when his hands began to roam around her newly exposed body. His lips released her neck so that he could stare at her in the mirror, and she felt one hand slip behind her back and deftly release the clasp of her bra. Her breasts were mercifully freed and the bra went cascading to the ground.

Severus' fingers delved beneath the waistband of her knickers and were about to start urging them downward, but then he murmured, " _Evanesco,_ " and Hermione felt an odd sort of tingling on her skin as the knickers were Vanished into non-being. Her eyes shot open. She gasped softly and said with feigned anger to Severus,

"Those were my favorite knickers!"

"They weren't. Your favorites are the white ones with little pink roses printed on them. You wear those more than any others." He was matter-of-fact in this pronouncement, and completely unapologetic for wandlessly taking away Hermione's underwear. She felt her cheeks color with a blend of embarrassment and arousal, and her lips parted as her breath quickened again.

She stared into the mirror and watched as Severus' left palm cupped around the bottom of her breast. His fingers curved and caressed her there, and he dragged the pad of his thumb carefully over the peak of her nipple. Hermione felt herself buck backward against him, the bare cheeks of her bottom pressing against his woolen tuxedo trousers.

His face was stony and expressionless as his right hand pressed itself flat against her stomach and dragged downward, until his fingers made contact with the wet heat of her womanhood. Hermione gasped aloud and gripped the sink so hard her knuckles hurt.

"Severus!" she cried helplessly, for he was pulsing his fingertips against her clit now as he watched her face in the mirror. She was struggling mightily to keep her eyes open, not to moan wantonly, but all she could see in the mirror was the image of a tuxedo-clad Severus worshipping her body with his hands. It was too much. "Please… please, take me to bed," she said softly, and she was abruptly whirled around to face him.

She was staring straight into his sternum, at the white pearl buttons on his pressed dress shirt. She let her eyes scan over to the shiny lapels of his black tailcoat, and she reached her hands up to push the jacket from his shoulders. It landed on the ground carelessly, and Hermione reached up then to work on the white silk tie at his neck. Once she'd unfurled that, it fluttered to the ground like a flag, and her fingers set to the buttons of his shirt.

Then, unexpectedly, his mouth pressed onto hers. He kissed her not with the desperate ferocity he sometimes did, but with a sweet sort of depth that made Hermione throb and ache for him. He groaned quietly into the kiss, his rough hand reaching up to cradle her jaw and steady them. Hermione melted against his palm and fingers, letting the power of the _Magnum Verbum Honoris_ work its full effect. She could feel him, and he her, at the most significant of levels. It was not just that she wanted to make love to him. Right now, she could feel him - every single ounce of his being - through his kiss, and it was almost frighteningly powerful.

His magic thrummed into her, not from his lips, but from his bones and his veins and the part of his core where his power lived. She felt a strength building inside her with every second of the kiss that passed, and then Severus groaned again, more loudly this time. Suddenly he yanked his mouth off of hers, panting a bit, and whispered hoarsely,

"Can you -"

"Yes," Hermione nodded rather frantically, her fingers fumbling clumsily with the ornamental buttons on Severus' dress shirt. She swore under her breath and felt her fingers trembling as she tried to undress him and failed, and then suddenly his hands reached up to gently guide hers away from the shirt. She realized quickly that he'd been dealing with small buttons on his everyday attire for decades, and she watched as he deftly unfastened the little extravagant pearls. He wriggled out of the open vest and shirt and tossed them aside, and then he flicked at the buttons on his trousers before shoving them downward and kicking them aside. He kicked off his dress shoes and socks and stood towering over Hermione in nothing but a rather revealing pair of black boxer-briefs. Hermione swallowed heavily.

He was lean and wiry, not the most muscular of men, to be certain. And he was pale with a dusting of dark hair upon him. He was no Greek statue. But as Hermione flicked her eyes up and down him, her gaze settling upon the prominent bulge in his underwear, she felt warm and dizzy. Her shaking fingertips reached out and brushed gently over the lump between his legs, and Severus grunted in the back of his throat. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and he hissed quietly,

"I believe you asked me to take you to bed?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"Very well, then." Severus nodded stoically. He reached sleekly beneath Hermione's knees with one arm and the other cradled her upper back. He hoisted her off the ground and she let out a little _oof_ of surprise. Then he carried her from the black-paneled bathroom out into the firelit space and placed her carefully upon the duvet of their bed.

Hermione tried to gracefully situate herself against the pillows, but Severus did not allow her the time or space. He was atop her in an instant, sliding smoothly up onto the bed like a predatory animal. He hovered above her, bracing her beneath her with his arms and legs caging her in. He dipped his face and his inky hair fell down around her, tickling her cheeks.

"Kiss me, please," she pleaded, her voice crackling in the stillness of the room. She only had to ask him once, and then his mouth was on hers again, his tongue exploring her with a fiery sense of want. Hermione could not help but to squeal quietly against him, and her hands flew up to hold fast to his shoulders. Finally he pulled away to breathe, when the electric oscillation of magic between them became almost too strong to endure.

He lowered his hips and ground his firm bulge, still bound by his underwear, against her thigh. Hermione cried out and drove her head back against the pillow, thrashing a little as she bucked her own hips up to him.

"Take them off," she begged. "Please take them off."

But Severus shook his head rather insistently and slid his hand between their bodies, resting his weight upon one elbow. He said in a liquid, low voice, "It shall be far easier for me to keep myself from simply driving myself into you… if there is something stopping me."

Hermione frowned at him and asked confusedly, "Why on _Earth_ would you want to _keep yourself_ from -"

"Because," Severus explained with condescending patience, and then his fingers touched her wet entrance again, causing Hermione to gasp and clutch at the sheets furiously, "Because I want to watch you first. I want to _feel_ you first."

"Oh…" Hermione moaned, feeling as though she'd quite gone mad from it all, "all right…"

Severus chuckled under his breath at her helplessness, and Hermione wondered distantly how he was managing to stay so calm and controlling. Then she remembered what a gifted Occlumens he was, and she knew that one could apply those skills not only to blocking memories from others, but also to putting up emotional and perceptive walls. He was, even now, exhibiting an enormous amount of self-control - more than almost anyone else was capable of managing.

It irritated Hermione a little that he was able to do that, to manipulate his own mind and body so that he could wield such power over her. She felt a sudden, strong urge to test just how much control he had over his own mind, over his own desire. She knew he could feel everything she did - not as strongly, perhaps, but the essence of her sensations became his.

So she writhed a bit beneath his touch, consciously savoring the way his rough fingertips pulsed against her clit. She thought to herself, _If he keeps this up, I'm going to come. I'm going to come, hard and powerfully, and it's going to feel delightful._ Just the thought of that, coupled with the very real feel of his hand against her, sex a fresh flush of warmth between her legs. She moaned his name and dragged her teeth over her bottom lip and shut her eyes.

She raised her hands up above her head, where he could see them, and her right hand moved to fiddle with her wedding ring. She absently fingered the green stone, swirling the ring around her finger as she sighed, "My chest, Severus… touch me there, please…"

She heard his breath getting husky and shallow as she felt his free hand cup one of her breasts and begin to massage her rather roughly. His right hand started to lose its steady rhythm on her clit as she knew he was struggling with his mind, with his ability to shut out their powerful mutual desire. Hermione tried not to let her mouth curl up in a self-satisfied smile. Her voice was low and silky as she asked him wantonly,

"Do you want to take me, Severus? Are you hard for me right now?" She opened her eyes and stared up at him, and she saw a flash come over him, a momentary loss of concentration. His cold, dark eyes looked almost glazed for a split second, and then quickly regained their sharpness. His hands stilled on her when he heard her filthy words, and she smirked. She lowered her hands to cover his and urged him to move again. "Don't stop. You're going to make me… oh, _yes_ , Severus… more. Like that."

She kept watching him and arched her back a little against his hands, feeling more turned on by the second as she watched his stalwart mental defenses crumble. He was sitting up on his knees, staring down at her, and she could clearly see the way his hardened cock was straining desperately in his black boxer-briefs. She almost had him, she knew. He couldn't hold out much longer. He blinked slowly and pursed his thin lips, and Hermione watched his chest tremble as it rose and fell.

Then suddenly, without warning, she was tumbling from her peak, her pleasure crashing around her like a broken pane of glass. Her ears were hot and ringing, her head spinning like she was drunk. She was saying his name, again and again, and her walls were clenching hard around his fingers. She heard him grunt and the sound spurred her on even more.

Then he tore his hands from her as if he'd been burned, as as Hermione recovered from her ecstasy she looked up to see that he'd balled them into white-knuckled fists. He was breathing through clenched teeth and he'd wrenched his eyes shut, and Hermione wondered for the briefest of moments if he wasn't finishing himself, right then and there, taken too far by their shared arousal.

But then he managed to reign himself in, and he pressed his right hand to his hips and muttered a spell to Vanish his boxer-briefs. Hermione giggled fiercely.

"Well, that's all the underwear gone, then."

Severus glared down at her as if she were a misbehaving child, and he moved to hover over her. "You teased me," he said accusingly. Hermione shrugged, not bothering to look very apologetic. She feigned a narcissistic aloofness and said dramatically,

"I know you want to ravish me… you said I looked beautiful tonight, and you did look very handsome. Why pretend? Why use your defenses against _me_? Why _try_ to keep yourself off of me? Why not just -"

" _Ms. Granger._ "

She stopped short when he growled her name, and she looked up into his face with wide, petulant eyes. "Yes?" she whispered, suddenly meek.

"For once in your life, would you _please_ stop talking?" Severus cocked an eyebrow at her, and Hermione tried very hard not to smile up at him as she nodded and blushed. She colored even more deeply when Severus said, in a delicate and luxurious sort of mumble, "Turn over… please."

Hermione felt a new rush of excitement as she felt him lift off of her just enough to allow her to rotate her body onto her belly. She started to hoist herself up onto her hands and knees, but Severus gently placed his hands upon her hips and kept her low to the mattress. He urged her thighs apart, and Hermione swallowed heavily as she waited the seemingly endless moment before he entered her.

When he did, it was as if there had been a burst of energy in the room. His pleasure rippled through her, and hers into him. Then there were the physical sensations; he was palpably throbbing after being neglected for so long, and he felt hard as stone and thick as he worked his way into her soaked entrance. He hissed and groaned as he sank into her, and Hermione burrowed her face against the sheets desperately.

He stayed still for a long moment, settled inside of her, and Hermione just absorbed the sensations of him throbbing in her body, of his breath steadying behind her. Finally, he asked in a gentle murmur, "Do you like having me inside of you?"

There was something about the way he'd asked the question that nearly sent Hermione tumbling again. She nodded against the sheets and, her voice muffled by fabric, said, "Yes. I like it."

He pulled himself out, very smoothly and steadily, and Hermione gasped at the feel of his rigid member sliding against her clit. Then he pushed back in again, slowly filling her once more, and then his velveteen voice said, "Tell me what you want."

He was back to being fully controlled now, Hermione could sense, and it once again irritated her thoroughly. She growled and curled her fingers on the sheets. "I… I want you to claim me. Take me. Please, Severus. I'm yours."

He grunted again then, and his hips bucked a little against her backside. _There_ , Hermione thought. A fracture in his control. She gathered her wits and kept going.

"I want you to fill me with your cock until you spill yourself inside of me, and then I want you to do it again later tonight. And tomorrow. And the night after that, and every night until the end of time, because I'm yours, and -"

"Stop," Severus said suddenly, gliding his hips smoothly in an out of her in a languid but rhythmic pace. His voice sounded unhinged all of a sudden, breathless and hoarse. "No more words."

He kept up his smooth pace for a good long moment, and it felt delicious to Hermione. But then he abruptly grabbed at Hermione's hips and pulled out of her. He rather roughly turned her over, flopping her onto her back. Hermione stared up at him, wide-eyed and surprised, and opened her mouth to speak. He was positively panting now, and he said desperately,

"I need to see your face."

He parted her thighs with his hand and drove himself back into her, rolling his hips quickly atop her as his black eyes looked down. Hermione felt her own eyes burning with tears. She could not readily identify the root emotions of them - were they happy tears, tears of love, or some other kind? It didn't matter. She was overwhelmed by him.

Suddenly his hips stopped moving, and the throbbing girth inside of Hermione pulsed harder. Severus' angular face twisted into an expression that looked almost like one of intense pain, and he trembled fiercely. Hermione felt a jolt of pleasure shock through her - _his_ pleasure - and she came again within seconds. Her second climax was less shattering than her first, but more intimate, since it was mostly shared with Severus. She gasped and whispered his name, and her hands instinctively reached up to cup his cheeks.

Hours later, as she lay curled up against his naked form, she thought back to what it had meant to her to dance with him, in front of everyone. He had not been ashamed of her. He had proudly taken her hand and waltzed with her as though it were the most natural thing in all the world for him to do.

She realized in that moment that she wanted nothing more than the end of this madness - this conflict and war and death and chaos - if for no other reason than to live in safety and happiness with the man she loved. Of course, there were so many other reasons she so heartily desired peace. But, selfishly, Hermione wanted nights like tonight to be 'normal.' She wanted to take Severus' hand and dance with him, and to not care who watched. She wanted to bear him children someday, to work alongside him in some smoky Potions laboratory on a new invention as a hobby.

She wanted to _discover_ , with him, what it meant to live a normal life free from fear. It had been so long now that Hermione herself had lived in intense fear that she could no longer remember what peace truly meant. But she wanted to find out… with Severus.

There were Horcruxes to be destroyed, and somehow she would have to figure out how she could help Harry… even though, at this moment, she had no idea where he was. There were lost friends already, and certainly more who would fall to the war effort. But Hermione knew she had to fight. She had to fight for Ron, and for Ginny. For Remus Lupin and Tonks and their baby. For Harry Potter.

And, she thought, sparing a glance to the sleeping form beside her, she had to fight for the man she loved with every ounce of her soul.

 **A/N: Hello, faithful and beloved readers!**

 _ **In The Shadow Of Your Wings**_ **is currently sitting at about 200,000 words and, frankly, is NOWHERE near done.**

 **Here's why. The first part of the story essentially told the story of an entire school year (in the vein of the actual HP books). Currently in the storyline, we are at October 31, 1997 and there are still Horcruxes to be destroyed, Hallows to contend with, and, of course, a proper ending that must be had. And who's to say MY Severus and Hermione "end" after the 7th school year? I know I've said "50,000" words left, but, if I'm honest with myself, then this story is not even half done. Honestly, it's probably not even a third of the way done.**

 **Therefore, I've officially decided that** _ **In The Shadow Of Your Wings**_ **will be the first installment in a series. The series is to be called the** _ **Psalmody Series**_ **, and the next installment will be called** _ **Knit Me Together**_ **. Each installment will be titled after a line from a psalm that that fits the overall arc of the installment.**


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